An Inconvenient Truth
by Hatsuka
Summary: Being slightly irredeemably in love with your best friend was always going to be painful, embarrassing and cringe-inducingly cliché-ridden, not to mention downright awkward. Fluffydrama, slash... Enjoy.
1. Human Connect to Human

**A/N: So, here it is… The actual first chapter! Since a few people have added this to their story alerts (Thank you! It means a lot), I'm going to post this bit here and take the other bit down, seeing as it's actually pretty far through the story, and therefore doesn't make much sense. So, once I've posted all the chapters **_**before**_** it, I'll put a (hopefully…) improved, re-edited version back up. You follow all that? Good. If anyone would like the other chapter back, I could post it separately or something…  
Alright, time-wasting over. I promise. Enjoy!  
Boyxboy, so no likey, no ready.**

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_A kiss/a touch/never enough/so soft, so hard/don't stop, you start/instinctive skills/like animals/human connect to human/boy meets boy/know what to do…  
_–Tokio Hotel, Human Connect to Human

Fourth year  
1st December  
Sirius

It was snowing. A few – alright, several – inches of snow on the ground shouldn't really have merited the mass hysteria it got – no other weather gets a reaction like snow-madness. People don't run around like maniacs screaming and throwing things at each other or lie on the ground waving their arms and legs around like upside-down beetles because it's sunny or drizzling slightly or overcast. Snow is magic. Now, ninety per cent of the school were out in the grounds staging a mass snowball fight, having completely regressed to five-year-olds. But not the marauders. Oh, no. For some reason, our werewolf-in-residence was bafflingly, irritatingly reluctant to get out there and join in.

'Moony, come _on_!' I whined. I was _this close_ to getting on my knees and begging him to come outside with the rest of us. And I might not have been much like the rest of my family, but Blacks don't beg. Which meant it was time for drastic measures. I pouted. Frustrated, he looked away. I grinned. He wouldn't have done that if the pout-and-puppy-eyes combination wasn't working. Just a little more…

'No! Pad, I've told you_ fifty_ times now! It's the full moon tonight.'

'Bollocks, Moony,' James retorted, joining me on the offensive. 'Have you _ever_ hurt anyone on the _day _of a full moon before?'

'Well, there was that one time where you made me jump when I was holding that really heavy book and I dropped it on your foot…' he tipped his head backwards, the slanting afternoon sunlight soaring through the dusty air and gilding his tawny hair, turning it bright gold. His eyes matched it easily, molten amber-gold and flecked with every imaginable shade of yellow. That's the funny thing about him, I thought, he's completely, utterly, one hundred percent fuckably gorgeous, but he genuinely has no idea. Then, I blinked, surprised. Huh. Where had _that_ come from?

'That was an accident,' I pointed out, helpfully. 'And, besides, it's still snowing. Everyone's gone nuts. You could get away with murder.'

James nodded thoughtfully, but Remus looked at me sharply, spearing me with those eyes and pinning me against the wall without lifting a finger. Damn him and those eyes. I swear to God those things have magic powers of their own. 'Pad, I sincerely hope you're not _serious_?'

I donned a suitably martyred expression. 'Moony, I can't _believe_ you have such a low opinion of me!'

'Bollocks,' he retorted, echoing James, unperturbed and cool as a wet fish as always 'You were doing your plotting face.'

'Well, maybe I was. Not the point.' I studied him thoughtfully. I wasn't as smart as him or Lily (who I assumed was already outside, as was Peter. James was getting impatient, I could tell, he'd been planning to use the snow to make yet another move on Lily), but I could tell something didn't quite add up here. 'Mate, you've taken risks before. Why the concern all of a sudden? Tell me? Please?'

I pushed the puppy eyes even further. Then he seemed to deflate, letting out a deep, _why-must-I-carry-the-weight-of-the-world-on-my-poor-thin-shoulders_ sigh. 'You win. I… I don't like snow, alright?'

'What?!' James and I blurted together in shocked canon.

'I don't like snow! It's… cold. And wet.'

James shook his head, expression torn midway between pity and horror. 'You poor, deprived child. Come on. Get his other arm, Pad. We,' he announced, in that tone of voice that no one argues with, 'Are taking out outside whether you like it or not.'

He didn't. Like it, that is. He practically had to be frogmarched down the stairs, through the common room, along one of our favourite shortcuts to the main door and outside.

'Snowball fight!' declared James. 'Pad, I'm going to go and round up some more people,' (find Lily, more like) 'So you stay here and make sure Moony doesn't do a runner. Be right back!' he dashed off. I looked around, grinning like a kid in a toyshop. I couldn't help it. It was snowing harder than ever now: fat, fluffy, feather-soft flakes, so fragile they either melted immediately on your skin or shattered into amoeba-sized fragments in your hair. I glanced over at Remus. He didn't have to like it, but the snow suited him. He was practically _glowing_. He pouted, and suddenly it struck me (in an _a-train-just-hit-me_ sort of way, decidedly _not _in an _I-just-had-a-sensible-idea_ sort of way) how _good _his mouth looked. Good enough to eat. Good enough to–

What? This was _Remus. _Earth to Sirius' brain – I know you're semi-permanently horny, but there's no way around the fact that you were lusting on your _friend_. Bad idea! The king of Bad Ideas, in fact.

'So,' I said, in attempt to shake off this bizarre train of thought. 'What d'you think?'

He looked at me witheringly, but I didn't think he was really annoyed. He's a bit insecure, is Moony, always chuffed to bits when we remind him that we honestly care about him. Personally, I think Fenrir Greyback has a lot to answer for. Poor Moony basically grew up believing he was a monster who didn't deserve to be treated like a human. 'About my friends manhandling me?' he said drily, 'Or the fact that I'm well on the way to losing several very important body parts to severe frostbite?'

I waggled my eyebrows suggestively. I can't help myself sometimes. Particularly not when someone provides me with a cast-iron innuendo opportunity like that. 'Which ones?'

'My opposable thumbs, idiot.'

'Oh. Shame. Is there _anything_ you like about it? The snow, I mean.'

He shrugged and made a non-committal noise that, for some reason, made me shiver slightly. 'I don't know. There's too many people around, it's too noisy. It'd be much nicer if it was a bit emptier.'

I rolled my eyes. 'Give over, the nearest people to here are half a mile away.'

Well, maybe not half a mile. But a long way, for sure. They weren't looking at us, hadn't even realised we were here. Maybe they'd have heard if we were really screaming at them, but they wouldn't unless we did. Then a particularly vicious, stingingly cold gust of wind poked itself down our necks and clawed at every inch exposed skin. As one, we jumped behind a large and remarkably ugly statue of… actually, I'm not sure what it was of. But it was uglier than Aunt Millificent, which is saying something, because my sainted mother once famously hung old Millie's portrait upside down and no one noticed.

I suddenly realised how very close together we were standing, like penguins. Not that either of us _actually _looked like… oh, never mind. Apparently completely oblivious to what I was suddenly painfully aware of, he shuffled about a bit on the spot, apparently trying to keep warm. He huffed, exhaling a visible white cloud.

'What in the name of arse is taking James so long?!' he demanded.

'Oh, he'll be chatting up Lily. Or trying to. Again.'

He groaned, and I carefully reigned in my overactive (perverted) imagination. What was wrong with me today?! It was like Moony had suddenly figured out how to harness those wolf pheromones or something. Actually, knowing him and James, that was probably true, and they'd thought it would make a good prank to pull on me.

'He won't be back for _hours. _And it's freezing,' he huffed, pouting indecently temptingly. A familiar (but highly disturbing, given the circumstances) heat blossomed right down in the pit of my stomach, waking up every inch of skin and every drop of blood in the vicinity. Shivering (not entirely with cold either) and hoping to God this bizarre and inexplicable… attraction, if that was what it was, really was their idea of a hilarious joke. I slumped back against the frozen stone, and he followed suit. For a few seconds, we both just stared up into the sky, watching the snow swirling, cocooning us. Then I turned my head slightly to look at him. He'd already done exactly the same thing. We were so close I could smell him – soap and paper and something musky, animal, _wolfy_. Close enough to count the colours in his eyes, I thought. I seemed to have fallen into some surreal, dreamlike, semi-trance state. He held my gaze easily, not flinching or looking away. Neither of us were thinking; neither of us wanted to be the one to start. Slowly, cautiously, wondering uneasily if I'd misjudged this horribly, I leant forwards, a centimetre at a time. It was the lightest, most careful brush of lips, barely even the maiden aunt of an _excuse_ for a kiss, but it was electric, searing, the fact that it was completely wrong sending a delicious little shiver through every last inch of me. And I really do mean every last inch. He pulled away, eyes shining, flushed bright pink. I offered the tiniest confused, exultant smile. I could still taste him slightly on my lips.

And that was it. That was what swung everything from _scary-but-maybe-it's-right_ to _no-no-no-it's-too-weird_. What on earth had I been _thinking_? That was _Remus. _And whichever way you looked at it, I'd just kissed him. Slightly more alarmingly to the point, why hadn't he stopped me and talked some sense into me? That had worrying implications to be stewed over later. Fortunately, at that exact moment, James arrived with literally two-thirds of the fourth-years in tow, saving me from having to say anything. _Thank Merlin,_ I thought, literally pathetically grateful.

'Snowball fight time, before it all melts!' he yelled, jubilant. Before it melts? It was still snowing. His eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. 'What _were_ you two doing, all huddled up over here?'

Ha. If only he knew what he was implying was actually true. All the same, it was a bit close for comfort. It wouldn't have done – _wouldn't have done _being exactly the operative phrase here (think about it. You'll get it eventually) – for it to get round that I was gay, firstly because I wasn't and secondly because it wasn't going to help at _all_ with the girls. At least, I certainly didn't _think_ I was. I had absolutely no explanation for what had just happened, but it lingered like a virus, like no other first kiss – or any kiss, for that matter – ever had. I could still feel the ghost of his mouth against mine, cautious and hopeful, tasting of coffee and chocolate.

It was weird. Really, really weird. And not good for either of us. The thing to do was clearly to forget anything had happened.

I'm not proud of what I did next, but right then I was completely convinced it was the thing to do. I laughed along with everyone else, denying it not-too-seriously (defensiveness is as good as a written confession), shoving James playfully and ending up in the middle of the scrum. Quickly, I glanced around the group and away again, to check we had everyone. But not quickly enough that I didn't see Moony's confused, puzzled face.

Oh, Merlin's balls. What the _hell _had I done now?


	2. Misery Loves Company

**A/N: Okies, chapter two… Sorry for the long wait! I'm not really so happy with this… But I honestly can't work out how to make it any better, so this'll have to do… Bleh. Next chapter'll be better, I promise. Enjoy!**

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_Do I need you?/Yes and no/do I want you?/Maybe so/you're getting warm/you're getting warm/you're getting warmer, oh/did you plan this/all along?/Did you care if/it was wrong?/Who's getting warmer now/that I'm gone?/Misery loves company/and company loves more/more loves everybody else/but hell is others…  
_–Emilie Autumn, Misery Loves Company

Fourth Year  
1st December  
Remus

Well, that had been… unexpected. And by that I mean surprising and amazing then bleakly hopeless. The day hadn't so much gone downhill as plummeted off a sheer cliff, I thought, as I retreated gratefully into a hot shower. Great. Really, just great. Now I was just very, very confused. I mean, confused about _him_, as opposed to me. _I'd_ known I was in love with him since… Oh, longer than I can remember, pretty much. And I was dealing with it. I wouldn't have gone as far as to say I was _happy_, but I was _managing_. You'd think living in that sort of perpetual, resigned despair would get to you after a while, but you get used to it surprisingly quickly. And then, just when you've got relatively comfortable with the whole thing, they go and _kiss_ you. I mean, _what_? At least I should be grateful that he completely shot me down before I could get too hopeful.

Oh, God. That last sentence has just sunk in. Yes, it's now so bad that I'm practically _grateful _to him for screwing me up even more. The problem isn't the hopelessness, as such – I'm used to that. No, the problem is what fills that space after it's been emptied. And what fills the space is questions. Lots and lots of them. For instance, _why_? Serious (insert ironic, unamused laugh at my pathetic and accidental pun here) or not? If not, whim or deliberate ploy to mess with my head? Of the two, I mused, tipping my head back into the jet of boiling water, I thought I'd have preferred the former. I mean, I knew he had a very questionable sense of humour, but I honestly didn't think he was so cruel. A completely merciless tease, yes, but that was in his nature. Bugger! I reached down and picked up the soap. Note to self: soap does not take kindly to being squeezed violently, and _will _leap out of your hand onto the floor.

That was all well and good (relatively speaking. In more general terms, nothingabout this whole mess was well _or_ good), but I thought the alternative was even more disturbing. _Had_ he been serious? I couldn't help but doubt it. If he had been, what had completely blanking me the next minute been about? Had he scared himself off? I choked back a bitter laugh (After all, who laughs when they're in the shower? No one, that's who). That would be just bloody _typical_. Potential for something one-in-a-million, but it never happens because Sirius is terrified that maybe he's not exactly who he pretends to be. He wasn't exactly _prejudiced_, per se, but despite that rebellious front he didn't cope so well with things that he cared about _changing_. Having kissed his best friend wouldn't sit well with him, I knew, and I also knew that he'd react by running away. Of course, the safe, sensible thing to do would have been to just keep my distance, or to shut him out completely, but I knew I'd never be strong or brave enough to what I should have done years ago. I knew, really, that I'd keep right on loving him. Whenever he had a moment when he thought _maybe_, I'd be there. I'd hate myself for it, but I'd be there. This, I thought, gloomily, was going to hurt. And it was going to be all the worse, because I knew I'd never be able to let go, not even if he went and got _married_ or something.

But I was getting ahead of myself. Please excuse my completely unjustified rant there, seeing as by then I'd pretty much convinced myself that it had been some small, insignificant cog in that boy's infernal, indeterminate machinations. God, listen to me! I sound like such a _girl_. Next thing, it'd be daisy petals and he-loves-me-he-loves-me-not. _Ugh. _I'm probably driving you crazy already. I'd be driving _me _crazy. Of course, that's me talking _now_. But then, as I stepped out of the shower and reached for my ancient, much-abused towel (always know where your towel is. Little literary reference for you there), all I could think was this: _Not hoping isn't so bad. What hurts is feeling that spark get snuffed out but knowing it's going to happen again and again. Because whatever that was today, I haven't heard the last of it._


	3. Stray Italian Greyhound

_So what do I do with this?/This stray Italian greyhound/these inconvenient fireworks/this ice-cream-covered screaming hyperactive thought?/God, I just want to lay down/these colours make my eyes hurt/this feeling calls for everything that I am not/I'm not that kind/I'm so good at shooting down any notion/this tired world could change/It's all been bought/or at least that was my line/no use in spending all that emotion/when there's someone else to blame/but you had to come along, didn't you?/Rev up the crowd, rewrite the rule book/where do I go when every no turns into maybe?/So what do I do with this?/__What do I do/With a love that won't sit still/won't do what it's told?/What do I do/with a love that won't sit still?  
_–Vienna Teng, Stray Italian Greyhound

Fourth year  
December 2nd  
Sirius

I'd have to say that the day after the infamous snowball fight didn't start well. Of course, for the rest of the school, the day of the snowball fight was all it had been (even if it _had_ got just the tiniest bit out of control). For me, though, it had been the day I'd gone and opened the biggest, baddest Pandora's box I could have imagined. So, back on the subject here. I woke up with the oddest pictures in my head. I seemed to have dreamed that I'd… _snogged_ Moony? Odd and slightly disturbing, to say the least. Good thing I'm not one of those people who sets any store by the random rubbish that crops up from time to time in dreams. I mean, dreaming that you got chased by a possessed teapot almost _never _foreshadows that actually happening. But then, as I woke up a bit more and waited for the details and images to slip away, they just… _didn't_. In fact, they got stronger and brighter and sharper until there was just no getting around the fact that _it hadn't been a dream._

What had I been _thinking_? Clearly, nothing at all. And the worst thing of all was that I'd been the one who'd started it. I couldn't for the life of me work out what in the name of Merlin's balls had possessed me. I mean, who randomly snogs their _friends_? Their _male_ friends. No one, that's who. I was reasonably certain I hadn't even been _slightly_ drunk. So, again: _what had I been doing_?! The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. Whichever way I looked at it, Remus was a _guy._ And I'd kissed him. Which wouldn't have bothered me at all if I'd gone in for that sort of thing. But I wasn't gay. Or at least, I didn't _think _I was, despite recent disturbing and confusing evidence to the contrary. I shook my head, but then stopped after cracking it sharply on the bedpost. Enough. The thing to do was clearly to plead temporary insanity and forget the whole damn thing.

And I tried to forget about it. I really did. But it just followed me around all day like a malevolent and persistent cloud of bats, refusing to leave me alone for so much as a second. Considering that I had rather a lot on my mind _and _I was diligently avoiding Moony like the black plague, I was starting to get just a tad stressed out. Clearly, I needed a distraction of some kind or another. Just something to take my mind off it for a while, you know?

'Sirius?' I spun round, instantly recognising and cataloguing the girl. Elena Miles, fourth year, raven-black hair and cherry lips, vampy-sexy, petite but gloriously curvy and perfect as a porcelain doll. Just the thing, I thought. Perfect, in fact. Feeling better already, I reached deep down for the smile that hasn't failed me yet. It's the patented dirty smile, the one you couldn't possibly misinterpret. She clocked it and returned it with gusto.

'Elena. Funny seeing you here.'

She sniffed, blinking disdainful, heavily-mascaraed eyes. 'Hardly. This _is_ the Gryffindor common room. I was just thinking that you look a bit…' she slid away from the wall she was leaning on fluidly, gracefully, like oil on water. Slowly, swaying her hips like a dancer and licking her lips, she moved towards me, reaching out to slide up the knot on my tie. I shivered slightly. She was _dominant_. Dominant and very, very girly. She was _just _what I needed. '…a bit _down in the mouth_,' she whispered, right into my ear, making a completely commonplace, legitimate phrase sound unbelievably dirty.

'Well,' I murmured, playing her easily at her own game, 'Why don't we go somewhere a bit… _quieter_ so you can cheer me up?'

'I think I might know _just_ the place,' she purred, slipping a cool, disturbingly vicelike hand around mine.

'Well, then… what are we waiting for?'

She just grinned a Cheshire cat grin and pulled me away, and I tried to tell myself it had just been someone who _looked _like Moony watching us go.

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**A/N: Alright, third chappie… finally. I don't know why it's taking me so long, it's not even like I'm that busy right now… Sorry for the wait(s)! Anyway, I noticed that quite a few of you have added this to your story alerts. Don't get me wrong, it's great that you're enjoying it and you don't absolutely hate it! How-ev-er… Hardly any of you review! Reviews make me write faster (honest, officer) and they only take a few seconds! So, I'm holding the next chapter to ransom until a few of you review. *insert manic cackle here***


	4. Wreckage

_Song is blasting/chorus lasting/and he doesn't even know…/every time I see you/maybe I don't wanna be/caught up in the wreckage/caught up in the wreckage…  
_–The Dollyrots, Wreckage

Fourth year  
December 2nd  
Remus

I'd known exactly what was going to happen, really. I'd hoped it wouldn't, but it did. I'd been expecting it since the unceremonious ending of the debacle itself, to be perfectly honest. I couldn't even begin to count the number of times I'd told myself that, whether I liked it or not, I'd been his little experiment, just trying it on for size. And, really, I couldn't say that was a happy thought, there wasn't a lot I could do about it, and it was hardly like he'd… I don't know, _raped _me or something, so I was dealing with it. More concisely, I was sulking and licking my metaphorical wounds. I was being stupid, really, I knew. I was hardly the first person this had ever happened to.

Of course, that was all _before _I saw him sloping off with Elena Miles.

And while I'd kind of expected it to happen, I hadn't really _thought _about it, you know? Or expected it to happen so soon. And it hurt. Fucking _hell_, it hurt, in a way a bruised ego and a disillusioned crush really, really shouldn't have done. I could literally _feel _it, curling around the pit of my stomach and making me want to act like a spoilt child: cry and rage and lash out at _her_. She was perfectly nice, too. A bit of a slag, maybe, but by no means the complete bitch you're _allowed_ to hate for getting off with the object of youraffections. Somehow, that only made it worse. I was angry, really, as much as sad. See, I loved him, clumsily, madly, agonisingly and completely, but he was so fucking _predictable_, acting like a bloody _child_, running away from anything that threatened to topple the comfortable, worn-in pattern of his life.

It wasn't until a few seconds after they'd left that I was still just standing there. Trying valiantly to just hold it together until I could get upstairs, away from all these _people_, I seized my bag and pretty much ran for it.

With only the prospect of colossal humiliation stopping me bursting into girly, noisy tears, I made for the bathroom.

Having cleaned myself up a bit and given myself a good mental talking to, I staggered out again. What I needed right then was a nice, long, boring essay to get my teeth into. _Anything_ to just get him the hell out of my head for a while. With a bit of luck, if I could just sneak back downstairs no one would even know I'd been gone…

'Moony.' It was James. Dammit… busted. He must have followed me up. Wearily and warily, I turned.

'Yeah?'

He looked at me intently, bottle-green eyes cutting right through me. I was going to have to be careful – it wouldn't be the first time I'd underestimated James. He might not have been the brightest spark in the wand, but he knew me too well and occasionally displayed these alarming flashes of perception. 'Tell me, Moon.'

I swallowed nervously. Uh oh. 'Tell you what?'

He tutted and heaved himself from a sprawl to a reasonable approximation of sitting. 'You know bloody well what. Something's bothering you.'

'I think Lily Evans is getting to your head, Prongs,' I said, falsely lightly, as I started subtly sidling towards the door. 'Nothing's bothering me.'

'Liar,' he drawled, without a second's hesitation. 'I might not be as smart as you, Moony, but I wasn't born yesterday. There _is _something, isn't there? You've been weird for ages. 'Specially the last couple days. And don't even _think_ about running away,' he added, noticing me edging away from him, 'I've put a locking charm on the door that only I can undo.'

Sighing deeply and turning back to face him – after all, there was no getting out now, James was the undisputed master at locking charms – I looked right into those wide, honest eyes and lied through my teeth. For the first time, uneasiness stirred restlessly in the pit of my stomach. I didn't _like _lying like this – after all, he'd kept my other secret. The big, furry one. But this? I had no idea how he'd react. And what if he accidentally let it slip? I'd be a dead man walking. 'Nothing. Honestly. Let me out, Prongs.'

He groaned, frustrated, running a hand through his unruly, black hair. 'Don't _do _this, Moon…'

'Do what?' I was going for innocence, but I don't think it quite came off. To be honest, I was thoroughly disturbed by the fact that my acting hadn't been _nearly_ as good as I'd thought.

'You _know_… shutting me out like this,' He looked right _into _me, positively defining genuine concern. Fuck you, Sirius Black, for making me do this. 'Whatever it is,' he continued, in a rush, 'you'll still be my mate. I'm not gonna… I don't know, start treating you like you're fucking _contagious_ or something.'

There were several grammatically and politically incorrect things about this sentence, but it was the least of my worries.

I sighed heavily, flopping down onto my bed and wincing slightly at the mattress' indignant squeaks. Clearly, I wasn't getting out until I'd spilled some beans. 'Honestly, James, it's nothing. By which I mean that you really, really don't want to know.'

'But what I don't think you realise is that the more you tell me I _don't _want to know, the more I _do._' He offered a wide, endearing, hopeful smile, instantly dropping several years in age.

'Naturally,' I said, drily. At heart, James was still about seven years old.

'So, _what is it?_ Or,' he added, eyeing me craftily in a way I did _not _like, '_who _is it?'

'No one you'd know,' I blurted, automatically yet blatantly falsely, realising my mistake a split second too late. Bugger…

'AHA! So it is some_one_.' He was so pleased with his detecting skills, he was practically jumping up and down. A treacherous smile tugged at my mouth. It was ridiculous; he was practically a walking happy pill, unless you'd managed to get yourself on his bad side.

But I'll hand it to him, he had a knack for getting things out of people.

'Yeah,' I admitted. I couldn't even screw up the motivationto fix my little slip of the tongue. 'I mean it, though. If you knew _who _it was it'd probably kill you. I'm only thinking of your health here.'

His eyes narrowed, the light slicking almost menacingly over his glasses. 'Not Lily?'

I laughed properly at that, not because so much there was anything _wrong _with Lily but just because quite literally _no one _could have been further from my thoughts. 'No, James. Not Lily.'

Instantly, he turned defensive. 'What're you saying about Lily?!'

It was the laugh, I knew. I shouldn't have laughed. 'Nothing,' I assured him. 'You like her so much I wouldn't even _think _about it. Even if she _was_ my type.'

That seemed to placate him, at least temporarily. 'Good. Or I really _would _have to kill you.'

'I don't doubt it.'

He was thinking again. That worried me. 'Not Lily… Another girl then?'

'No. Just… no. Really, really not.'

'Not a girl… a boy, then?'

Well, that was logical, I supposed.

'No shit, Sherlock…'

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 'Sherlock?'

'Ugh… never mind. It's a muggle thing.'

'I'll take your word for it. So, a guy… Someone giving you trouble? Do we need to rough someone up a bit?' he looked positively hopeful. James had a long, wide protective streak that extended automatically to cover me, Sirius, Lily, even Peter – anyone close to him. It was quite touching, actually, but let's just say that no one was ever going to mistake him for a member of the international magical peacekeeping squad.

I sighed. 'Unfortunately, it's not _quite_ like that. Much as I'd like to, I don't think decking him is the way forwards.'

'Then what _is_ it like? You can talk to me, Moony. I honestly don't think anything could surprise me more than your furry little problem did when we finally worked it out.' He half-smiled, remembering, but the worry and curiosity were still there, underneath. Well, it was time to bite the bullet.

'Go back to the bit where you thought it was a girl…' I swallowed, suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea. 'Then swap _girl_ for _boy_.'

Comprehension dawned. '_Oh._'

Silence fell with an almost audible thud. The decrepit (possessed?) grandfather clock by the door to the bathroom ticked deafeningly. It was at this point when I started to reflect on the wisdom of this particular confession.

'So,' he said, positively _oozing _awkward vibes, but (promisingly) not flipping out. Yet. 'You, er, like guys then?'

'It's not even that,' I said, miserably. 'It's not… guys in general. Just him.'

I realised as I was saying it how true it was. He nodded thoughtfully, digesting this.

'Well?' he prompted, eventually, with unconditional acceptance that I could literally feel spreading slowly through me like a hot drink on a cold day. 'Who _is _it?'

I got up, already heading back to the common room, away from this painfully uncomfortable conversation. It didn't sit well, shutting him out (as he'd put it) like this. Not after he'd taken the revelation that I wasn't quite as straight as he'd thought so well. I turned back.

'I could tell you,' I said, in all seriousness, echoing him just a few minutes ago, 'but I'd have to kill you.'

I made for the door. Then, remembering it was locked, I offered him my most angelic smile. 'Are you going to take that locking charm off the door now? Otherwise people are going to wonder what we've been doing up here...'

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed... I'm having so much fun writing this, you wouldn't believe. Loved it? Hated it? I'd like to know what you think :).**


	5. Sweet Talk 101

_I just gave myself the shivers/And that's what you get when you think about him/And I just gave myself the shivers/And that's what you get, that's what you get/With that façade/You can do no wrong/Many will enter but few will win/So please be sure to read the fine print/The arch in your eyebrows/Can tell the truth/Just imagine what your back could do…_  
–Cute Is What We Aim For, Sweet Talk 101

Fourth year  
January 4th  
Sirius

'Black.'

I jumped about a foot in the air, simultaneously spinning around to confront the disembodied voice. 'Jesus Christ, Evans! Scared the shit out of me…' I flopped into one of the common room's many armchairs, still recovering from my minor heart attack. She closed the book in her lap and eyed me beadily, in a way that made me think she _Knew Something_. Relax,I told myself. _Unless she can read your mind or see your dreams, you're pretty much safe…_

Actually, something about the whole situation didn't quite add up. Maybe it should have occurred to me sooner but, hey, it _was_ about three in the morning. I looked at her thoughtfully, twisting the different bits of the slightly bizarre circumstances like puzzle pieces, trying to work out which one was missing. Then I got it.

'What are _you _doing here?' I asked, eventually, accidentally sounding a lot ruder than I'd meant to. She looked slightly sheepish.

'I couldn't sleep. So I came down here to… er, read for a while…' she held up her book as proof. She looked awful, I thought – grey and exhausted, but nonetheless very much _Lily_; glass-pale and sunlight-strong. She yawned widely, suddenly looking very young in her oversized woolly jumper and pyjama bottoms, barefoot and curled into an inconceivably tiny ball. I felt a sudden and irrational urge to try to _protect _her, but then I remembered her backhanding me across the face when I'd made a play for one of her friends. The urge promptly vanished like a fox down a hole.

'Thinking about James?' I teased. She gave a scornful, unladylike snort, all that trademark fire returning in a flash.

'He wishes, the tosser. What are _you _doing here?'

'Eh… sulking, brooding, angsting a bit…' I waved a hand airily. We were both too sleep-deprived to realise what a weirdly intimate, civil and snark-free conversation this was, by our standards. 'You know, the usual.'

She raised an eyebrow. 'Angsting? Whatever happened to the high-and-mighty, insufferably arrogant son of the noble house of Black?'

Now, _that _was more like it. She'd been so _tolerable _I'd been starting to worry. There was a slightly bitter note in her voice, probably from all the shit any muggle-born had to take from the Slytherins.

'Noble house of Black is right,' I said, idly studying the reverse lattice pattern of moonlight on her hair. 'It's getting blacker by the day. It's filthy.'

She giggled weakly at my feeble joke, and then the silence started to fall again, soft and cold as snow. 'You know,' she remarked, after a minute of pensive staring, 'You've been… different recently.'

'Yeah? Different in what way?' I looked up at her. Inwardly, I was slightly disturbed. She _couldn't _see people's dreams, right? Because mine had been… interesting lately. Yes, alright, a lot of them had involved Moony. I'll spare you the gory details. Let your imagination run wild, see what you can come up with. And, yes, it was slightly alarming. But like I said, all sorts of utter crap turns up in dreams. Best to just ignore it, even if it _had _all started (rather suspiciously) directly after the fateful day of the snowball fight, about a month ago.

'Well,' she said, ticking them off on her fingers. 'Less generally unpleasant. Less up yourself than usual. Getting through a record number of girls per week. Quieter, too, you're always staring into space, like there's something you wish you could see, or… I don't know, understand or something… and now this mysteriously onset insomnia.'

'Very good, Evans… but I have to wonder about _you_: shrink or stalker? Behavioural analyst or closet fangirl?'

She flushed slightly, barely visibly in the half-light, embarrassed. 'It's not _my _fault if I have eyes,' she snapped, 'And since James is still following me around like a seeing eye dog and you're all practically joined at the hip I tend to end up spending far too much time in your presence.' The scathing tone was back, and she tossed that infamous hair contemptuously over her shoulder, pouting for England. I could see why James liked her. She had that _spark_. She was gorgeous, too, fine-boned, creamy-skinned, hazel-eyed, dusky-pink-lipped and copper-haired. Shame she was so… _prickly_. Not my type at all. I sat back in the chair.

'So? What's your verdict, Doctor? What's on my mind?'

That had taken the wind out of her sails. 'I don't _know_… Ugh, forget it. It's three in the morning, _I_ don't even know what I'm talking about…'

'Yeah,' I said, dragging myself out of the chair. 'Well, not that this little midnight tryst hasn't been fun, but I'm going back to bed. Night, Evans…'

'Night, Black. And… er, Sirius?' she sounded tentative, uncomfortable. I turned back. She half-shrugged. 'Much as I dislike you on principle, I hope whatever's making you slightly less of a dickhead than usual works out for you in the end.'

'What thrillingly passionate sentiments, Evans,' I drawled, dripping sarcasm. Then I stopped to think. After all, it had been a surprisingly nice gesture for her to express a hope for my future that didn't involve my nasty and untimely death/dismemberment (delete as appropriate). 'But… er, thanks and stuff…'

Wondering whether I needed to be worried – about both myself and Lily – I mooched back up to the dorms. As if I was going to be able to get to sleep after _that_.

* * *

**A/N: Hehe... Lily was unexpectedly fun to write. Reviews? Not too proud to beg! That little button down there (*points*) WANTS to be pressed. You'd be depriving it of the chance to function. It could plunge into chronic depression. You wouldn't want that, would you? *uses Sirius' puppy eyes on you*  
Ok, done begging now. It's also just occurred to me that I've been forgetting disclaimers and stuff... I mean, I assume that you assume that I don't own any of the characters, places, etc., but just for the record...  
*dull, official voice* All characters and places doth belong to the fair maiden JK Rowling.  
Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. The Bitch of Living

**A/N: Nyugh, sorry I haven't updated in a few days… I've been ill and busy and tired AND I discovered Deathnote the other day… **_**der rest geht von allein**_**. BUT it's my birthday on Monday! *happy dance*  
*Ahem* Just, er, felt the need to tell you that. Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_It's the bitch of living/the bitch, just the bitch/with nothing but your hand/just the bitch, yeah/just the bitch of living/as someone you can't stand…  
_–Spring Awakening, The Bitch of Living

Fourth year  
February 9th  
Remus

'Moo-nyyyyy?'

I groaned. What now?

'Yes, Pad?'

'You know that Potions essay… the one on antidotes and side effects and shit?'

'I might do.' I closed my book and tipped my head back to look at him. I was sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed, and he was sprawled out on it, peering down at me in a calculating, speculative way that immediately made me very suspicious. 'You haven't done it, have you?'

'Well, I'd say I'd had a fair stab at it, to be–'

'–lying,' finished James, from his own bed, where he was… actually, I'm not quite sure what he was doing. My guess would have been the practical transfiguration homework – turning water into wine (I ask you. Of all the spells to teach to a large group of enterprising teenaged witches and wizards). In fact, what he _was _doing was making a lot of faintly boozy-smelling smoke and swearing a lot. He abandoned his attempts for a minute to look at Sirius. 'You haven't even looked at it, have you?'

'Nope,' he replied, cheerfully.

'Let me guess,' I said, wearily. 'You want me to do it for you.'

His face lit up. 'Would you, mate? That'd be _great_.'

'I wouldn't hold your breath for that, if I were you,' remarked James, who, from directly opposite me, had a much better view of my I-don't-think-so-face than Sirius, who groaned and dropped his head down onto the sheets. I shivered slightly – there was absolutely no need for that. God, I thought, he'd probably run a mile if he'd known what that noise had just done to me. Let's just say it took precious little imagination to shoehorn it into another situation altogether.

'Bastard.' He reached out to whack me feebly around the head.

'Tosser,' I retorted, fondly.

'Mm, maybe,' he agreed, absent-mindedly, before turning back to the problem at hand. 'James, can I copy _your _essay? I'll rephrase it, I swear.'

'Remember last time I let you do that? Sluggy thought it was a bit off that you'd written _James Potter_ at the top of _your _essay.'

'Oh, sure, bring that up again… I didn't do it on _purpose_. I won't do it again. Please?'

'I wouldn't, if I were you,' I remarked, turning my page. 'I've seen James', and it's nothing to write home about – no offence, mate…'

'None taken,' James replied amicably. His general lack of talent and motivation for Potions was legendary.

'…But you'd be better off copying Peter's. At least I could _read_ his.'

He thought for a minute. 'You know,' he said, slowly, 'that might not be such a bad idea. Thanks, Moony! I'll go and find him…'

He positively bounded off to find Peter. I sniggered childishly, having accidentally neglected to mention that Peter was going to be in Arithmancy for another half hour.

Just when I was thinking that I'd escaped Sirius' scrutiny for a while, James turned that searchlight stare on me. Oh, God.

'Well?' he said, expectantly.

'Um… He's gone to find Peter, but Peter doesn't get out of Arithmancy 'til twelve?' I suggested, deciding that (faked) ignorance was the best course of action here. In fact, I had a sinking feeling that I knew exactly what this was about, and I had absolutely _no_ desire to talk about it. He rolled his eyes.

'_No_, Moony. Jesus, you're meant to be the smart one…'

'I _am _the smart one. I just don't speak moron.'

'This close, mate. I'm _this close _to just banging my head against a wall here.'

'Alright, alright, don't hurt yourself. Ask me whatever you're clearly feeling far too awkward to just ask straight off and be done with it, before you lose any more brain cells.'

You know how there are just some people who, much as you love them, bring out the sadist in you?

He took a deep breath, psyching himself up. 'Did you… ehm, sort everything out? You know, with…' (insert uncomfortable cough here) 'Um, the guy?'

While it was great that he hadn't run off screaming when he finally wormed it out of me, I was quite enjoying watching him squirm. There's nothing quite like a bit of gratuitous _schadenfreude _to cheer you up a bit. I had to laugh, but then he looked so _aggrieved _I took pity on him. I don't know, my good nature's going to be the death of me at this rate. 'No, Prongs, I haven't. Trust me, you'd know if I had.'

His face crumpled in disappointment. 'Oh. Bummer. Well… You know, good luck and that…'

I chuckled mirthlessly. 'Thanks, James. I'm gonna need it,' _just to get through the rest of this_, I wanted to say, but I managed to shut my mouth just in time. After all, I was reasonably certain I was never going to have the balls to just _tell _him and get the whole damn thing over with. Frankly, _I _was getting bored. I can't believe you're still reading this. So when would it stop? When would I stop needing luck just to avoid losing a friend? Five years? Ten? Thirty? Fifty? Would I ever? Would I end up trailing around after him like this for the rest of my life? At that point, it looked pretty likely.

Such, ladies and gentlemen, is the bitch of living.


	7. God Help Me

_All the world is a judge/But that doesn't compare/To what I do to myself/when you're not there…  
_–Emilie Autumn, God Help Me

Fourth year  
March 16th  
Sirius

You know when there's something you can't quite put your finger on, but it gets louder and more persistent and generally more _annoying _until it suddenly hits you with all the force of a runaway train? Well, I had that. And the tattoo it was beating on the inside of my skull was slowly scaling my bad mood up from slight grumpiness to chronic irritable bastard syndrome. So, there I was, sitting in the common room, staring moodily into the fire until I could still see it when I closed my eyes. I was also consciously trying to exude don't-you-even-think-about-it. The _last _thing I wanted was a legion of concerned fangirls asking me whether I was alright and then arming themselves with torches and pitchforks to hunt down and dismember whatever was impeding my happiness. Partly because even I couldn't have told you exactly what this _was_ at this point.

'Sirius?'

A girl's voice, serious but not cautious or nervous-sounding. I looked round at her, frantically scrolling through my memories of the last week or so, trying to work out who she was and therefore what the expected response to her speaking to me was, as I didn't really fancy getting slapped again for the second time that week. She was blonde and willowy, with a slightly troubled expression, and for a horrifying split second I had absolutely no idea who she was. Then she reached up to coil a strand of hair around her finger, and mercifully that tiny mannerism jogged something and I remembered – Mary Forsythe, current sort-of girlfriend. Phew. That had been a close shave. I tried valiantly to plaster a convincing I'm-happy-to-see-you smile over my sulk, but I don't think it really came off. She didn't smile back, but sat down in the squashy armchair opposite me. Curious and slightly confused, I tried to read her expression, which was still hovering midway between determined and unsettled, with a dash of it's-for-your-own-good in there as well. For a minute, she was as silent as the grave, like she couldn't quite frame the right words in her own head.

'What is it?' I asked eventually, getting bored with waiting.

She heaved a deep sigh, as if what she was about to say was earth-shatteringly tragic and difficult. What a drama queen – I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and tell her to just _get on with it_. I'd have been able to get away with it with, say, Moony or Prongs, but in my (not inconsiderable) experience that tends to annoy girls a bit. They like to think you're taking them seriously. 'Look,' she said, 'Here's the thing. It's been great, the last couple of weeks. I could hardly believe it when you asked me out. But then I noticed something. It's like… sometimes, it's like you're not all _here_, like your heart's not really in it, you know? Like you can't quite see me.'

Whatever she was on about, the thing to do was probably to apologise. An apparently sincere apology will get you pretty much anywhere (and you can interpret that any way you want). 'Mary, look…' I sat forwards, peering earnestly into her wide, brown eyes. 'I'm really sorry you think that. I've just… had a lot on my mind. You know, er… family stuff, and that. I'll be better, I swear.' Silently, I congratulated myself. Family stuff. Nice.

'I hadn't _finished_,' she said, punching me lightly on the arm. Ow. I winced and made a mental note to avoid getting slapped by this one at all costs. I was starting to remember asking her out in the first place. It was all coming back now; I didn't know why I'd blanked earlier. I was clearly even more preoccupied than I'd been pretending to be. She was still toying with her hair, and I could see it out of the corner of my eye. It was _infuriating_. Not to mention bloody distracting. When she finally spoke, she was halting and hesitant, which, considering my truly epic proportions of my sulk, only made me more annoyed. 'Sirius, you're clearly not as shallow and up yourself as you like to make out, and underneath all that, I think you're a really… great person,' _…but. _She hadn't said it, but she might as well have done. I could practically see it, hanging in the air.

_Hold on a second_. That sounded familiar, but it was just _off _somehow, like seeing writing flipped round in a mirror. Logical, really, since I'd been on the delivering rather than the receiving end of pretty much exactly that sentence so many times. I was genuinely shocked. 'Are you… _breaking up with me_?'

She gazed at me like a lovelorn, kicked puppy, eyes brimming with emotion. Honestly. Maybe it was a good thing _she _was dumping _me_, I'd have had to do it sooner or later. 'Yes,' she said, simply, in a low, tremulous voice.

'Why?' I wasn't so much upset about losing this particular girl as unsettled by the fact that this was happening at all. It was all the wrong way round. I was getting dizzy.

'There's… someone else.'

This was getting weirder and weirder. 'Who?! Who are you leaving _me_ for?'

She rolled her eyes. 'Not for me, idiot. For _you_.'

'Maria, I think you've got the wrong end of the stick here...' I shrugged. 'I mean, you're cute and all, but I have to wonder if you're playing with a full deck.'

The best thing was that I could say this with total impunity because I was ninety-nine per cent certain I hadn't been so much as flirting with anyone else since we'd started going out. Or not so you'd notice, which is all that counts.

'It's Mary.'

Oops.

'That's what I said.'

'Whatever. And I _haven't _"got the wrong end of the stick", as you put it.' Her voice was starting to ratchet up in pitch. I glanced round. People were starting to look, but a quick rake of the patented death stare around the room suddenly seemed to make them all _very _interested in their shoes. 'Really, nothing you could do could change my mind… I mean, I knew I was going to have to do this ever since I realised what was wrong. It's just… too weird.'

I was getting progressively more confused. '_What's_ too weird?'

'Do I _really_ have to spell it out for you?'

'I think that'd be helpful, seeing as you completely lost me about five minutes back…'

'Your friend, Lupin,' she said, surprisingly gently.

'_What_?! Look, Mary, you've got this _completely _wrong. We're mates, that's all…' Oh, Jesus, I thought. The paranoid type. Perfect. It wasn't the first time this had happened, although it _was _the first time one of them had dumped me over it. Usually, they just got more and more snitty until you asked them about it and appeased their fears by snogging them senseless. Although, admittedly, there wasn't a lot that _didn't_ solve.

'But that's the thing, isn't it? You get jealous when any girl starts talking to him, whenever you're in the same room you've always got half an eye on him, you just seem to _gravitate _towards each other or something… Sirius, I can't believe that you don't understand that I have to wonder whether you _are _just friends.'

Not giving me another chance to defend myself, she left.

Well, shit.


	8. My Best Friend's Hot

_My best friend's hot/my best friend's hot/no matter what I do, you love me not/why don't you come on closer please/yeah, you don't know/I brush my hand across your knee/just take it slow/because I'm not gonna tell you all the things I might like/won't you apologize to me to me to me/for being such a tease/a tease/a tease?/You know I'm not gonna tell you all the things I might, like/my best friend's hot/my best friend's hot/should I tell you now?/should I tell you now?/that I'm in love with you?  
_ –The Dollyrots, My Best Friend's Hot [am I good or am I good? It's the PERFECT song.]

Fourth year  
April 11th  
Remus

Back to normal, thank Merlin. I'm actually slightly ashamed to say that I was practically _relieved_. Because, all things considered, it's much easier and less painful for me to lust after him in the privacy of my own head. I just can't deal with him _confusing _me.

History of Magic. Honestly, even I find it difficult to summon up any interest in it. Unfortunately, this meant that my slightly less academically-orientated friends (which, much as I need them/care about them/etc, equates to 'not the brightest' in layman's terms) didn't have a hope of keeping themselves awake. I glanced down at my notes. Professor Binns was giving Marion Hawkley and Robin Saunders (I know. Marion and Robin. It's brilliant, isn't it?) his painfully monotonous idea of a bollocking for quite literally sitting and snogging in the back row. Not that I can blame them. Even I was so dangerously bored I could have kissed _Sirius–_ Oh, wait. That would only have worked _before_ I was in love with him. Silly me. You'd think I'd have got used to it. Almost as a reflex, I glanced across at him and had to stifle a mouthful of undignified sniggers. I didn't know how he'd done it, but he'd managed to get his hands on a couple of matchsticks (unsurprisingly difficult to track down in a building where anyone who wants to set fire to something only needs to point a wand at it) and was actually using them to prop his eyes open. I had to admit it – it was certainly worth having him around. Tuning back in to Binns' 'lesson', I ascertained that he still hadn't resumed his long and rambling tangent on feminism within the vampire culture and was still thoroughly engrossed in bemoaning the manners of poor Robin and Marion. Well, after all, it was probably the most exciting thing to have happened in one of his classes in… what, seventy years? Idly, I started drawing a face on the bottom corner of my notes. Dark hair, jaw line you could cut glass with, eyes like black holes, mouth quirked in amusement… Oh, bugger. You've guessed, by now, who it was, I'm sure. I groaned inwardly and scribbled the Sirius-doodle out. Next, it'd be names in lovehearts – more specifically, ours. Excuse me while I go and throw up at the thought. No signs of suddenly and mysteriously Getting Over It yet, then.

'_Moon_,' hissed Sirius, next to me, and I looked around just in time to catch a balled-up scrap of parchment. Unfortunately, Binns has ears like an elephant, and he broke off in the middle of a sentence deploring our attitudes towards our education and – a split second after I'd stuffed the note into my pocket – fixed the pair of us with an unpleasantly shrewd look.

'Black, Lupin! What are you doing? What was that?'

In perfect, unrehearsed unison, we held up open hands. 'Nothing, Professor,' we said together, with identical intonation, his voice a perfect third below mine, both adopting the same wide-eyed, butter-wouldn't-melt expressions. He didn't look convinced.

'Well, whatever it was,' he growled, this mild irritation as close as he ever got to wild, unbridled emotion, 'You get away with it this time. But I've got my eye on all of you. Yes, you two as well, Potter and Pettigrew. You don't fool me; the four of you are always up to something…' Contenting himself with giving us the evils and muttering something about how at our age we ought to know better, he finally resumed his lecture. Once he was safely immersed in his precious subject again, I carefully extracted the note (silent as the grave, as well. Never let it be said that being a marauder doesn't set you up with some handy life skills. Like lock-picking, low level theft, prank execution, convincingly protesting innocence in the face of incontrovertible proof of guilt, destruction of evidence… I could go on). This was it:

_Marauders! _[this in James' enthusiastic, generous scrawl. He sat at the end of the row, presumably he'd started it] _We can't let everyone remember this lesson __JUST_ [underlined very vigorously] _because Robin finally got off with Marion. Motion to authorise deployment of The Hat?_

Then, in Peter's tiny, uneven, crabbed print: _Definitely! But what if he tells McGonagall? She hasn't forgiven us for the raccoons in the charms corridor yet. OR the ice on the Quidditch pitch._

James again: _Don't be such a tosser, Peter. You're just raining on the parade – five galleons says that Binns doesn't even know who McGonagall IS. Pad? Moon? You in?_

Sirius' lazy, elegant but illegible (except to the well-practiced eye) cursive: _Always. In fact, I'd say this lesson is in __dire need__ of The Hat._

I glanced at Sirius, eyebrow raised. He flashed me a wicked grin, simultaneously encouraging me to join in and congratulating me on our perfect, unplanned synchronisation earlier, showing a pointed canine. Did he really not know that every single time he does that I couldn't help but imagine those teeth on my neck, my lips? Damn him to the seventh circle and back for being so ridiculously handsome and so fucking _confusing_. Clearly mistaking the slightly strange look on my face for annoyance or refusal, his expression turned pleading. Warmth stirred in my chest (and other places) – it had been worth the familiar, routinely agonising twist of the knife just for that look. As usual, completely unable to say no to him for long, I nodded. He looked positively exultant, and the hole in the middle of my chest throbbed painfully. It wasn't his fault, really. I couldn't see how _anyone _could know him and _not _fall for that magnetic free spirit, the laughter and childish glee in anything forbidden.

Ok. Fangirl gushing over for the minute, I promise. So, to get off the subject for a while, The Hat. It was an amusing novelty contraption that basically made you look like you'd stuck something stupid and incongruous on your head – like a dead chicken, or a feather boa, or a wedding cake, or a two-foot pike, or an upside-down soup tureen… you get the idea. Anyway, the clever part – even I couldn't quite figure out how the guys at Zonko's had done it – was that it had been bewitched to look like something different every time it was looked at. So, in theory, the unfortunate teacher spends ages searching for the six/eleven/thirty-four/eighty-nine different hats they'd swear they saw you with before they'd managed to confiscate it… or at least, that was before they twigged what it was. Even I had to admit, it was brilliant. Just add one soulless, mirthless, lifeless teacher (it just wouldn't work with the sharper ones that don't take any crap) and away you go. As I'd been thinking this, of course, Sirius had been telegraphing my approval down the row. How did I know this? Because when I looked over and realised James had what looked to me like a small plant pot bursting with tulips on his head. Of course, if he'd got Binns' attention deliberately, it couldn't have worked… so he just sat there, wearing the flower pot, arms folded, face poker-straight. Which somehow made it all the funnier. Of course, it was only a matter of time, and about a minute later, he glanced at James. By then, most of the class (bored teenagers = wandering eyes) had noticed, and were carefully trying to silence that almost hysterical glee that the combination of something even mildly amusing and advanced dullness creates. Binns clocked the flowers, glanced away and did a double take. Then another, as it seemed to become something different. I looked away then back, to see what he was seeing. It was now a colossal, bottle-blonde permed wig. Actually, it kind of suited James.

'James Potter,' droned the Professor, the marginally different inflection in his voice (somehow deader than the rest of him put together. Which took some doing, considering he was a ghost) presumably denoting anger, 'Take that _ridiculous _thing off your head. I hope you realise that you're only embarrassing yourself.'

_Au contraire_, Professor. James' hero ranking had just ratcheted up several points. As had been the plan, James removed The Hat and carefully passed it to Peter under the desks. You had to admire its makers: as soon as you took it off your head, it just looked like a shabby black top hat, about half-size. Of course, Binns hadn't actually confiscated it – just made James take it off. I considered this to be a fairly elementary mistake, and it removed any lingering cobwebs of doubt over whether or not it was really fair of us to do this to him. As I'm sure you will have been expecting, the pattern of the last few minutes was repeated with Peter (for whom the hat became a giant, alarmingly realistic and luridly-coloured snail and then a stinging, acid-green mohawk) then Sirius (who proudly sported a huge, noxious purple turban and a stuffed bald eagle). Binns was getting progressively more annoyed, but he hadn't done the simple, obvious thing yet: just _confiscating_ the thing. He really wasn't making it any easier for himself. I did my bit, of course, dutifully taking the hat from Sirius and finding myself to be wearing a fruit bowl, and then a shower cap. But as I deftly flicked it back to him under the desks, he went and _smiled_ at me again. Bastard. Just when I was doing absolutely fine(ish). My heart splintered into several even smaller pieces with a _crack_ audible at the North Pole. Oh God, how much longer would I have to bear this? Because sooner or later, something had to give, and at this rate it was going to be me.


	9. Deeper and Deeper

**A/N: Um… two Remus chappies in a row, I'm afraid. Well, I didn't really want to do a filler one. So, deal. Sorry, did I say that? I meant… er, enjoy. Yup, enjoy…**

_Why - why should we go deeper into this?/I don't know/Try - I'm trying to find what's in your secrets/I don't know/Time – the minutes are counted between us/Yeah/I'm falling deeper and deeper/Getting sweeter and sweeter/Can't obscure desire/'Cause you learn as it grows/It's so strong/It lingers on/Forever/How - how come you're abound on my thoughts?/I wonder/Now - I feel that it's scripted into my part/I wonder…  
_–Cinema Bizarre, Deeper and Deeper_  
_

Fourth year  
July 2nd  
Remus

I stretched out, savouring every last second of precious summer sun. It was warmer than it had been for weeks (or possibly months or even years. Gotta love the great English climate), and me and Sirius had been wondering aimlessly around the grounds before ending up by the lake. It was unusually jewel-bright, pure, intense blue instead of iron-grey, for reasons known to absolutely nobody. Somehow, we'd ended up sprawled on the north shore, side by side, lying flat on our backs to watch the scudding clouds, the water lapping towards our feet. We might as well have been the only people in the world. Hey, we can all dream, right?

'Moony?' said Sirius thoughtfully. Oh, Merlin's balls. Not again. He had a _plan_. I knew that voice, and it was invariably bad news for someone.

I sighed, and shifted slightly. The grass itched. 'Yes, Pad?'

'You know the school plumbing's meant to be connected to the lake?' His eyes were fixed speculatively on the water, and while he wasn't looking at me I found myself subconsciously tracing the line of my profile with my eyes before ripping my probably creepy, stalkerish stare away with a gesture not unlike slapping someone's hand away when they're about to do something annoying.

'Ye-e-es,' I said slowly. I had a feeling I knew where this was going.

'Are you _sure_?'

'Pretty sure,' I definitely smelt a prank in the offing. Possibly one involving wet fish.

'Right. And you know,' he continued, turning to me with a crafty and (inappropriately, all things considered) feline grin. 'That the giant squid lives in the lake?

'So I've heard.' I'd caught his drift, and it reminded my firstly of why I was hopelessly in love with him and secondly why he was the main plotter of the marauders. After so many years, we'd slipped into comfortable, distinct roles. Sirius was the one who came up with most of the ideas – the boy had exactly the right blend of genius, creativity, dubious sense of humour, cheerful disregard for the rules and complete idiocy. I was the brains, even if I did say so myself. It was always me who took Sirius' mad schemes, looked at them carefully and worked out how we could pull them off. I was good, and I knew it, but it was hardly the most exciting job. But it was what I did, and I would have taken it over being the grunt any day. That was Peter's job. Well, it was his own fault. He hero-worshipped James and Sirius in particular, and the most useful thing about him was his blind loyalty. More often than not, he ended up as cannon fodder. James was the chief executor, the frontman, if you will. Sirius was heartrendingly attractive and dangerously charming, yes, but James was something else. Even if he got caught by a _male_ teacher or prefect, he could talk his way out of anything. Sirius' dubious skills rather fell flat in such instances.

'Well,' he said, dragging me back to reality. He pushed himself onto his elbows, propping himself up as he gazed out over the lake. 'If we used a summoning charm…'

'We could give someone a _very _nasty surprise,' I finished, grinning. He did this to me; _always_ a bad influence.

'Exactly.' That familiar dark spark in his eyes lit up his whole face. It quite literally hurt to look at him. He was glowing, brilliant, lit from within. That was why I stayed, I realised. Why I made time to be with him. I didn't mind living in his shadow, as long as I could bask in that glow, use the light to see things by.

We sat there for a minute in easy, comfortable silence. Then he shifted slightly closer to me. I swallowed, hoping he couldn't hear my heart going. That would have been _embarrassing_. I might have been able to control my head (just about. Or, I _seemed _to be able to. Which was all that really mattered), but controlling my body when he was about six inches away was slightly trickier.

'When's James'n'Lily'n'Peter out of the Hospital Wing?' he asked, thoughtfully. I blanched slightly, both at the memories that dredged up and at my best friend's grammar. The marauders were currently incomplete after an unfortunate skirmish in Herbology with an unreasonably violent bed of azaleas. In fact, this kind of thing was happening suspiciously often. If I hadn't known better, I'd have sworn they were getting some kind of sadistic kicks out of leaving us alone together as often as they could. To cut a long, harrowing story short, they'd (the azaleas, not our missing friends) developed prehensile tendrils, got hold of some pitchforks, and the rest is history_. _Sirius and I had escaped relatively unscathed, but we'd had to abandon James, Lily and Peter to the tender mercies of Madam Pomfrey. James hadn't looked too upset; after all, he'd had the perfect excuse to spend time with his beloved Lily, and Peter had been thrilled to bits just to have been there, as per usual. You're going to hate me for it, but once I'd been reassured (several times, in an insultingly patronizing manner as well) that they'd all be fine in a few days, I was delighted. Because, of course, I got Sirius all to myself. Sure, I was hardly going to _do _anything, but that's beside the point. I could pretend. That was probably all I was ever going to get, so I was happy enough with it. I know, I know. It's ridiculous. But we're only human, after all. Making sense just isn't what we do. This obsession was my little peculiarity.

It was then that I realised that Sirius had rolled over onto his side and was looking squarely into my eyes. I swallowed again. 'Couple more days? Probably.' I said. Two more days of comparative freedom, I thought.

'Good,' he half-whispered. I froze. The boy could read minds now? What fresh hell? My heart kicked hopefully, but my head wasn't going to give in that easily. _Calm down,_ I thought. _Check you haven't misunderstood. _I opened my mouth, but he got there first.

'Because while they're not here…' his cool hand snaked out and grabbed my warm one. 'I can do this.'

For a minute, he waited, like he was expecting me to flip out or start laughing. Realising no such hysterics were forthcoming, he murmured. I think it was at this point that I sort of forgot to breathe. 'And this…'

Leaning his head forward, an inch at a time, he kissed me, cautiously at first, but when I kissed back he moaned and I felt his teeth graze my lips and then his tongue flick against mine. It almost hurt to touch him, like he was made of fire, but so real and solid and alive I could never have doubted he was real. _Oh, God, please. Just this once, let it happen_. He tasted of fresh air and cigarettes and sugar – and I'd never wanted anyone so much. Closing my eyes, I felt a string of kisses down my neck, hands teasing, caressing. That familiar, frantic, confusing, joyous desire rolled through me like summer lightning.

I gave in.

A few minutes later, I knew three things: firstly, my brain had been replaced with fireworks, secondly that he'd invaded every single one of my senses, blocking the rest of the world out completely… and thirdly that he seemed to have ended up on top of me. I'm not going to lie; I was in seventh heaven.

Then I felt a hand going for the fly of my trousers. I gasped, sitting up sharply. He'd _actually _been going to…?

'What's the matter?' he purred, eyes flashing. He was panting slightly, hair dishevelled from me running my hands through it, and his voice was low and rough with a slight catch in it. 'Don't you want to?'

I did. Oh, God, I did. More than I'd ever wanted to do anything. So much it scared me. But I already knew what would happen. It had only happened once before, but once had been plenty to make me very cautious indeed. That pattern was burned into me, mind and body, heart and soul. There'd be something there, we'd start something, he'd get scared and run off and shag the first thing in a skirt he could find. Younger by a few months I may have been, but sometimes I felt decades older than him. At least _I_ knew who I was. But he was waiting for an answer.

'Pad,' I said, 'Is this going to be like the other time?'

It was like a door had closed behind his eyes, shielding him, shutting me out. He knew exactly what I meant, and I knew full well that by talking about it, making it real, I'd hurt him. I didn't care. He needed reminding that every other human had a heart and soul too.

'Yes,' he said simply, pushing himself away from me and sitting down again, further away than before. The moment was gone and we both knew it. He looked… sorry? Hurt?

I sat up properly (if a little unsteadily) and re-did a couple of buttons on my shirt. For a long time, neither of us said anything, but this time the silence was uneasy, balanced between us as precariously as a one-legged man on a tightrope. A one-legged man on a unicycle on a tightrope. I squirmed unhappily, hating that it was suddenly tense and awkward in a way it just _shouldn't have been. _There was a hell of a lot I wanted to say, but ninety per cent of my (impressively large) vocabulary seemed to have mysteriously and infuriatingly deserted me.

'Sirius,' I said, eventually, knowing he'd pick up on the fact that I was using his real name. Pad was my mate, the one I'd laughed with, the one who got me into more trouble than I knew what to do with. Sirius was the boy I _didn't_ know, the one who changed his mind so often I was metaphorically as dizzy as fuck. I looked at him, my view momentarily and blessedly untarnished by infatuation. I could see him all too clearly: so much more vulnerable and _breakable_ than he liked to seem, scared shitless of the fact that he wasn't quite who he'd thought he was… and even more confused this whole mess than I was. 'Sirius… what are we doing?'

'I don't _know_!' he sounded exasperated, spitting the words out so violently I instinctively leant away from him. Then, mercurial as ever, he switched almost instantly to defeated. All the fight went out of him. And that was even scarier. He was staring at the ground now; his voice was so quiet I had to lean back in again to hear him. 'I don't know anymore.'


	10. Kansas

**Um... sorry for the mini-chapter-ness  
I hate GCSEs... bloody time vampires. But on the other hand I got a place at my first-choice school for sixth form, so that makes me happy, and happy writers write... er, better.  
Ok, so my apology fails. Get over it.  
**

* * *

_Well, I hope yours is kinder/let go of this when you find her/bury this heart/down underneath your white canvas/our houses of cards/flat on the table like Kansas/And it's not regret/just an unexpected accounting of debts/only now called/no, it's not regret/just remembrance is all/of how close we had come/our war almost won/but I sent up our flag and moved on/You and I/lost to the winter like Kansas…  
_–Vienna Teng, Kansas

Fourth year  
July 15th  
Sirius

For the first time in living memory, I, Sirius Black, was practically _looking forward to going home_. Similarly for the first time, I was starting to think that maybe a nice long spell (ha ha) away from Hogwarts (and by that I mean Moony) was _just _what I needed. A bit of breathing space. I mean, that was clearly why everything was so weird all of a sudden – because we were all so cooped up together, all the time. And it _was _weird; uncomfortable and difficult, faked smiles and affected affection. And whatever it was, this… this _thing _between us, it was unhealthy and just plain _not right_. See, there are _lines. _Lines which are meant to keep everything where it should be. And somehow, over the last few months, they'd got all… scribbley. _Yes_, that's a word. But it was alright, because taking a break from each other would fix it, whatever it was. After all, it was clearly absolutely nothing (I mean, think about it. What had _actually _happened? Not much, really), and I had absolutely nothing to worry about, so for that reason I _wasn't_ worried or stressed or freaked out at all, not in any way whatsoever…

Alright, fine, that's complete bollocks.

Really, it would be utter crap to say that I was anything other than terrified shitless. Not to mention so confused I could barely remember my own name. All I knew was it would be better for everyone involved (i.e. myself and Moony) if we both just got off with a girl or two each over the summer and just didn't see each other for a while. That was what we needed – something else, something to make us _let go_. Because, honestly, if we just carried on like we were now, it was all going to end in tears. Personally, I was tempted to take the adults' line and blame the hormones. Obviously, it was _their _fault that everything was suddenly ten times as intense as normal, messing up even the way I was feeling even the slightest emotion. In fact, it was probably _their _fault that we were in this mess in the first place. And there was absolutely no way around the fact that it was _their _fault that I had this ridiculous, nagging feeling that we were doing something so incredibly stupid, throwing this mess of screwed-up, too-strong feelings away, that we didn't deserve them anymore. _Their _fault that I couldn't help comparing the how it used to be with Moony to every crappy relationship I've ever had. _Their _fault that…

Oh, _hell. _When did everything just stop being easy?


	11. Twisted

_It's too late now to save me/I'm too tangled/It's twisted, messed up/And the more I think about it/It's crazy, but so what?/I may never understand it/I'm caught up and I'm hanging on/I'm gonna love you even if it's wrong/Even if it's twisted/Maybe it's not right/But that's alright/Yeah, it's alright…  
_–Carrie Underwood, Twisted

Fifth year  
September 1st  
Remus

I loitered unobtrusively on platform 9¾, trying to crush the swirl of apprehension in the pit of my stomach. Back to Hogwarts, but this year was going to be different. I was _not _going to spend it mooning over (see what I did there? Please attempt to restrain your unbridled laughter at my incredible wit) Sirius Black. Nope, I was _completely _finished with all that. It was a stupid little crush, really nothing to be getting your wand in a knot over. In fact, Sirius who? I hadn't seen him in almost two months and I'd only thought about him once that day. Well, alright, maybe more than once. But definitely no more than fifteen times. I'd be seeing James and Peter again too – maybe I'd even forget all about him for a bit.

'_Moony!_'

'Ungh!'

Sirius flying-tackled me, very nearly reducing me to an attractive splatter pattern on the train tracks. Before I could even process exactly what had just happened, he'd hauled me back up, chattering away at high speed about every single detail of his summer. Every now and then I'd actually catch a word, like 'tits' or 'blonde' or 'Quidditch', or occasionally something rather more alarming, like 'catfish'. Eventually, he stopped for breath, holding me at arms' length to check I still had all my limbs attached. I raised an eyebrow – non-verbal for '_are you quite finished?_', and his entire face split into a huge grin.

Oh, God.

I was so _not _over it.

* * *

**Yesokit'sanotherminichapterpleasedon'teatme!  
*hides*  
Yes, I know, this one is tiny and a bit rubbish. So, to make up for the last two, you get a nice, shiny, **_**full-length**_** one as well. So, go and read that **_**before **_**you strangle me… ;)**


	12. Covet

_Show me how, show me how/the less you know the better off you are/covet, love it, learn to break/want this, my love, your mistake/show me how, you treacherous teacher/you own everything in your sight, in your sight now/possess that special feature/that everything you say and do is right…_  
–Jack Off Jill, Covet

Fifth Year  
September 27th  
Sirius

It wasn't my fault, ok? Jury, please note. I was trying to sleep. Just minding my own business. You know, as you do. Maybe angsting a little over this emotional/moral/physical tangle of thorns thing I've got going on, but other than that I was minding my own business. Maybe thinking a bit about Moony, and how although I couldn't _see_ him he was practically close enough to touch. This, actually, for some unknown reason, was turning me on a bit. So, in that infinitely bored, _maybe-this'll-help-me-get-to-sleep _kind of way, I started dissecting why that could be and why it would bother me so much.

The thing is, I didn't get very far. After I'd been lying completely still for a while, I heard a cautious creak of ancient bedsprings. He was moving very slowly and carefully, trying not to be heard. Every one of my senses cranked up to hyper alert. Was he… _sneaking out_? _Moony_? That was just plain wrong. And weird. Sure, we all had to sneak out for his little furry problem once a month, and then at least a few more times for general nocturnal misdemeanours, but that was different. What in the name of Merlin's most baggy Y-fronts was he doing that he hadn't told us about? Not even considering the possibility that it was something I didn't want to know, I was a bit annoyed. But everyone deserves their privacy, right? I wasn't going to follow him. I rolled over, my determination nearly burning right through the curtains. Come hell or high water, I was _not_ going to follow him.

I followed him. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. I'd also like to say I felt appallingly bad about it, and also felt like a truly disgusting human being at the time. But I just can't. Ignorance killed the cat – curiosity was framed. And I was certainly curious. I winced, as a floorboard on the stairs creaked, heartstoppingly loudly in the dead silence. A couple of people rolled over and there were a few vaguely irritated, sleepy mutterings, but luckily I didn't seem to have woken anyone else. I wished I could have transformed – dogs are much quieter and generally better at sneaking than humans, but if I got caught I really would be neck deep in it, in a _big _way. Carefully, quietly, across the common room, creepy creepy, sneaky sneaky, trying not to trip noisily over anything. That _would _be difficult to explain, I thought, looking down at myself for the first time, especially as I was wearing ancient and decidedly infirm boxers, a holey t-shirt and no shoes. Actually, I was starting to regret the whole no shoes thing. It was _September_, for the love of God. Why the hell hadn't I thought to put some more clothes on? As I slipped through the portrait hole, the Fat Lady's eyes widened in malicious glee, but I offered her my best pleading face, working the puppy eyes for all I was worth. The seconds ticked by painfully slowly. If she squealed on me, I was screwed. But eventually, she sighed deeply, rolled her eyes heavenwards in infinite, long-suffering martyrdom and jerked her head to indicate that I should go. Mouthing _thank you!_, I continued down the corridor.

I stopped. This was the slight snag in _le grande plan_. I'd left it too late before I'd followed. I had no idea which way he'd gone. For the first time, I started to wonder exactly what I was doing. What right did I have to follow him around? To want to know what he was doing, even though it was obviously none of my business? None, really, I knew. I was also becoming uncomfortably aware that anyone who found out about this would think it was a bit… stalkerish. You know what I mean? I scowled. I'd have gone back right then, but for some reason, I just couldn't let it go. Besides, the Fat Lady already knew. Why not stay out a bit longer and give her something to gossip about? I took a deep breath, concentrating _very _hard. Being able to do this was a recent discovery of mine, and I'd been playing around with it, seeing what I could do, how far I could push it. Very, very slowly, one little tiny step at a time, I started pushing my body to switch from Sirius to Padfoot. Timing it perfectly, I stopped, a split second before the change. A bone-shaking shudder ripped through me. Your body doesn't like being between two forms. It wants you to choose one or the other. Technically, I was still human, but Padfoot was in my blood, in my heartbeat. My sight dimmed slightly, some colours just fading, others draining away altogether. In compensation, my hearing and smell went into overdrive. Triumphant, I sniffed the air in a distinctly canine way. Nothing… nothing… Ah. There it was. That exact cocktail of parchment and soap and wolf. That was him. With complete certainty, I started down the corridor, the thick pile carpet muffling my footsteps. I suppressed a primal, joyous shudder. The Dog's predatory; it loves the hunt.

I was lost. Padfoot had well and truly failed me. I'd followed the scent trail – his, obviously – as it got fainter and fainter, sticking obstinately to what the Dog was telling me. I turned slowly, shivering unhappily. So I was lost _and _freezing my arse off. I'd also completely lost track of time. How long had I been out? I had no idea. There was nothing I could see that I recognised, nothing that would help me work out where I was. And, more importantly, that would help me get back. I'd given up on spying on Moony now. Whatever he was doing, I honestly didn't want to know more badly than I wanted to get back. What would happen if I didn't find my way back? I was tired, and not quite up to stopping my brain wondering off on its little morbidly speculative tangents. Who'd notice first that I was gone? Would they miss me?

Then I staggered through a door, and I knew _exactly _where I was. Deities or lack thereof be praised – I'd stumbled into the fourth-floor shortcut to the Charms corridor. Too tired and cold to even bother trying to work out how I'd done it (after all, it could have been useful to know), I made a beeline for the common room. I didn't even care what Moony'd been doing now – lesson learnt; if someone is sneaking out in the middle of the night, they probably don't want to be followed. And if they don't want to be followed, the chances of you finding out what they were doing are drastically impaired.

I couldn't help but wonder, though. Possible theories chased each other around my head like snakes on wheels. Infuriatingly, I still couldn't sleep. As I tossed and turned and disentangled the sheets again and again, idle interest evolved into a burning desire to know. Don't look at me like that. You'd have felt the same, I know you would. You'd have done what I did next too, so you'll forgive me for that. Right?

So, there I was, trying to sleep. Again. Alright then, I was simultaneously trying to sleep and getting déjà vu. But this time, the little sneakout I'd witnessed was running in reverse. My ears pricked up (metaphorically) when I heard footsteps on the stairs. Quiet, uneven footsteps. Someone (let's assume for a minute I didn't know _exactly_ who it was) was trying _very_ hard not to make any noise. Carefully, I twitched the hangings open just a crack, so I could see out.

And there he was, creeping oh-so-silently back to bed. But something wasn't right. His hair gave the impression that he'd been set upon by a miniature, renegade tornado, and his jumper (unlike some people, _he'd _thought to bring one… make what you want of that) was hanging off one shoulder, like it had been put on quickly and carelessly, or in the dark.

'_Moooo-nyyyyyy,_' I whispered, in what I sincerely hoped was an ominous, sepulchral voice. Either I'd managed that or I sounded like I had a severe sore throat. He jumped about a foot into the air, spinning around to face my bed.

'Pad? Go back to sleep,' he hissed, making for his own bed.

'Shan't,' I said petulantly, a little louder now. 'You snuck out _without _me, and I got lost trying to find out where you were going _and _I've probably got pneumonia because it's fucking _freezing_. The _least_ you're going to do is tell me what you were up to.'

Suddenly, the hangings were ripped open and I could see Moony's face. To say the very, very least, he didn't look happy.

'You _followed _me?!'

'Um… well, that really all depends on your point of view and exactly what you'd define _followed_ as… you see, in a manner of speaking…'

He wasn't listening. He'd huffed off, flinging himself down on the edge of his mattress. He glared at me. That's how good his death stare was – I could feel it even though it was nearly pitch-black.

'I can't _believe _you, Sirius Black!' he exploded. Only he was trying to do it very, very quietly, which kind of ruined the effect. 'I don't follow _you_, when you've run off with some girl! Why–'

He stopped. He'd said too much and he knew it. I pushed myself up onto my elbow, peering through the thick, syrupy gloom at him.

'So _that's_ what you were doing… you went out to meet someone, didn't you?'

He turned away, reaching out to close the drapes. 'Maybe,' he said, offhandedly, but I knew I was right.

'Who was it? Tell me, Moony, or I swear to God I'm not going to rest until I find out.'

'That,' he said, tartly, 'is for me to know and you wonder.'

And he closed the curtains. My head reeled slightly. Who'd have thought? For a minute or two, I speculated inwardly over who it could have been, but quickly gave up. It could have been absolutely anyone. But–

Oh.

Well, _that _was interesting. There was an uneasy, twisting in the pit of my stomach. I was… _jealous_?


	13. Howl

_If you could only see/the beast you've made of me/I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free/screaming in the dark/I howl when we're apart/drag my teeth across your skin to taste your beating heart/my fingers claw your skin/try to tear my way in/you are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl…/Now there's no holding back/I'm making to attack/my blood is singing with your voice/I want to pour it out/the saints can't help me now/the ropes have been unbound/I hunt for you with bloodied feet across the hallowed ground/like some child possessed/the beast howls in my veins/I want to find you, tear out all your tenderness/Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers/starts so soft and sweet/and turns them to hunters/A man who's pure at heart/and says his prayers by night/may still become a wolf/when the autumn moon is bright…  
–_Florence and the Machine, Howl

Fifth year  
November 27th  
Remus

'Ready?'

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak. It wasn't too late – not yet – but we were certainly cutting it fine. I couldn't _see_ the moon (we would have been quite spectacularly fucked if I could), but I could _feel _it, hammering through every vein, pulling me towards it like the tide, that terrifying siren song getting louder and more strident by the second. I was also horribly aware that in a mere handful of too-short minutes, it would be too loud to ignore.

'Then let's go.' James swung the cloak over our heads, unusually devoid of all glibness. It wasn't just me; he could sense that we were barely going to make it. Sirius and Peter looked the same, grim-faced and determined. A violent, deep-seated shudder clawed at me, and we were off. I saw Peter and James exchange worried glances, but I barely noticed. I was too busy holding the Wolf back. And, God, it was fighting to get out, snarling and scratching at my insides. Already, the amber fog was clouding the edges of my sight, and I groaned. We were going to have to run. That split-second lapse of utter concentration was all it needed. I tripped on a loose flagstone, spitting and cursing under my breath, feeling it stir restlessly under my skin, perilously close to pushing through. It was starting to hurt, too, squeezing my heart and lungs down several sizes, making it hard to breathe.

'_Intervention!_' hissed Sirius. He seized one of my arms and James grabbed the other, so they were half-carrying me. I knew it was coming (my brain's higher functions tended to be the next thing to go), but what with the whole painfully constricted chest cavity issue I couldn't have thanked them even if I'd been capable of the thought process behind it. Not that it mattered. They knew.

'Come on, Moon, not far now…' James' voice was presumably meant to be reassuring and encouraging, but it was stretched too tightly over genuine fear. At least by then we'd managed to get out of the castle and a fair way into the grounds.

'Fuck… No… Now…'

I dropped to my knees, cursing and snarling, that sickening heat pooling in my stomach, melding with the shivery dread already there. I'd lost count of how many times I'd changed even by then, but I was never quite prepared for how much it fucking _hurt_. There just aren't words for that kind of ripping, all-engulfing, god-awful physical _pain_.

The last thing I saw before the final vestiges of humanity dropped away like autumn leaves was Sirius, crouched down opposite me, eyes burning with something bittersweet and nameless.

November 28th

There's really no two ways about it – waking up in the hospital wing is usually a fairly good indication that something, somewhere, has gone quite severely wrong. Very, _very _cautiously, I opened an eye. The place was deserted, although the weak, wintery sunlight was already filtering through the unattractively curtained windows. My head was still too scrambled to even _think _about thinking about how I'd ended up here, but I was drowning in sheer relief that the whole bloody thing was _over _for another month. In fact, the light-headedness was even worse than usual. Had I been painkiller'd? It looked likely. I opened the other eye.

'Moony! Thank God, you're _alive_!' It was Sirius. He sounded delighted, ecstatic, even, but there was something else there too – guilt?

'So it would seem,' I agreed, wincing at the sound of my own voice. Ouch. It sounded (and felt) like someone had thought it would be amusing to sandpaper my throat. 'Christ, what _happened_?' I asked, noticing the swathes of bloodied bandages around my arms, chest, legs, hands, stomach, shoulder… What on earth had managed to do that kind of damage to a _werewolf_? Not something I wanted to meet at any time soon, that was for sure. Sirius, slumped in a chair by my bed and achingly beautiful in the light, suddenly looked very shifty.

'Sirius?' I pressed, rather pleased with the ominous edge in my voice. Ominous was a definite improvement on desperate/needy.

'Look, Moon, it wasn't your fault…'

Oh, Gods. What had I done? A gut-wrenchingly horrible thought sliced through the drugged-up haze like a knife through butter: _Please, God, don't let me have bitten someone_… 'Pad, _tell me what happened_.'

'It was us,' he said, too quickly, words blurring together into _itwasus_. 'We were… um, fighting.'

Now I looked at him again, he was half-mummified too, like me. A slight, rueful chuckle yanked painfully at my lungs and throat. 'Well, seems like you came out on top,' I remarked. After all, only one of us was had actually been deemed invalid enough to merit a bed. He sniggered at the innuendo and I rolled my eyes, but then the amusement died back slightly, and I looked at him in disbelief. No doubt about it, he looked _guilty._

'Why the long face?' I teased. Those eyes turned disbelieving.

'You even need to ask?'

'If I didn't need to ask, would I be asking?'

Disbelieving to soulful and sincere at the drop of a hat. Oh, Gods, that fucking look. I believe any remaining functioning internal organs may have melted at this point. '_Look_ at yourself,' he murmured, so softly I had to lean forwards a bit just to hear him. 'I could have killed you.'

He glazed over, gazing to the middle distance. I could almost hear the squelching sound of him sinking into tortured, angsty self-loathing.

'But you _didn't_,' I pointed out, feeling that this was the important thing here. There was something nagging at me here, something that should have struck me as odd or something I should have been worrying about, but the pleasant golden haze made everything… slippery. Difficult to pin down. 'And besides, it's not like you just _attacked_ me. You're not looking so clever yourself.'

After all, it wasn't like I was in any pain. My throat didn't feel good, but I hadn't even noticed all the bandages and multiple lacerations they probably hid until I'd seen them. I didn't know what Madam Pompfrey had given me, but it was happy stuff. Everything looked all fuzzy and glowy.

He made a noncommittal, nonverbal noise. I rolled my eyes. 'English, please, Pad. Not all of speak goblin.'

A smile twitched at the side of his mouth and I suddenly realised how very _close _he was.

'So,' I said, just before the silence got awkward. 'D'you know what we were… er, fighting over?'

Something dark flitted over the surface of his eyes, but then it was gone. 'No,' he lied, unconvincingly.

I raised an eyebrow.

'Look… just… forget it, alright? It wasn't important.'

Not important? He was obviously in quite a state over it. _Not important_, my arse. He had that set, stubborn look on his face, and I knew I wasn't going to get it out of him for love nor money. Well, that suited me just fine. All I had to do was wait until the next time he was drunk. For the minute, I dropped it.

'What's the damage?' I asked, casting around for something else to talk about and eying the visible bandages peeking out from under his shirt. Subconsciously, he reached up and pulled at his collar, exposing a sliver of skin.

This was when the painkillers thought it would be fun to join in. _Don't you just want to rip that shirt right off him? It wouldn't be so hard… why don't you?_

Fabulous. Perfect, in fact. I had to deal with this from my own head basically all the time, and now a bunch of chemicals were getting in on the act. The trouble was, they were a lot a harder to ignore. Luckily, he seemed oblivious, but there was still… something. Something _off_.

'Oh, nothing, really… You know, few scratches and that.' Typically cavalier in the face of genuine injury (it was the little things like papercuts and stubbed toes he whined about), he shrugged, but even that triggered a pained spasm. I attempted a wry smile (an improvement on the strained rictus stemming from the difficulty of ignoring the voice of the drugs).

'Yeah… Sorry about that…'

'Nah, don't be. I'll live.'

The silence rushed back in to claim the painfully small space between us. I closed my eyes, tipping my head back, hoping to regain some tiny shred of self-control, because just screwing the consequences and jumping him (injuries be damned) was sounding like a better idea with every passing second. A wash of exhaustion slid through me, but I could still feel that penetrating stare on my skin, like a solid thing.

'Sirius. Staring. Stop.'

He didn't.

I opened an eye. It's hard to glare when a) you might be asleep for all they know and b) you only have a rough idea of where they are.

I started. I'd have jumped, but if you've never tried to jump while in a bed, I can save you the trouble and tell you it's not easy. While I hadn't been looking, he'd shifted even closer. I could almost have just… _leant over and kissed him_. No, no, no! Do not want! Go away, unhelpful but tempting thoughts. That way madness lies, to say nothing of severe awkwardness for the duration of the foreseeable future.

I closed my eyes again. It seemed like the safest thing to do.

'Moony?'

I didn't reply. My body seemed to have mysteriously and unhelpfully turned to lead. If I'd really, _really _wanted to, I might have been able to move, but it all looked a bit too much like hard work. Sirius, however, wasn't to be put off so easily.

'Moony?' Sharper. He never did like being ignored.

'_Moony?_'

Poke.

I couldn't even screw up the energy to frown in an irritated, disapproving kind of way. I was literally seconds away from giving in to the imminent sleep.

'Hmph. Fall asleep on me then, see if I care.'

Talking to himself. First sign of madness, that. For some reason, that seemed unbelievably funny.

I heard the chair scrape, followed by a couple of footsteps. A voice, his, almost a whisper:

'Get better, Moon.'

Then a familiar pair of lips ghosted over mine and I nearly hit the ceiling. My eyes snapped open, but he was already halfway to the door. I opened my mouth to say something, but quickly thought better of it. Maybe this time, if I just gave him some space, he'd realise that he really _did _want me…

Yeah. And maybe the moon is made of cheese.

So, the list of solutions that did _not _work had now lengthened to:

1. Getting off with someone else (gender of said someone proven to be irrelevant here).

2. Getting into a fight with him.

3. Snogging him.

4. Not seeing him in almost two months.

I was running out of ideas.

Fuck my life.

* * *

**Bleh. Not thrilled with this… Oh well. The next one is better. I think.**

**I should be doing a maths practice paper RIGHT NOW.  
The things I do for you.**


	14. I Like It Rough

_Your love/is nothing I can't fight/can't sleep/with a man who dims my shine/I'm in the bedroom/with tissues and then/I know you're outside banging/but I won't let you in/'cause it's a hard life/with love in the world/and I'm a hard boy/loving me's like straightening curls/you've got me wondering why/I, I like it rough/ I, I like it rough/ I, I like it rough/I'm shiny and I know it/don't know why you want to blow it/need a man who likes it rough/likes it rough/likes it rough…  
_–Lady Gaga, I Like It Rough

Fifth year  
November 29th  
Sirius

I, Sirius Black, was well and truly shocked speechless. I was standing in the fourth-floor toilets, checking I didn't have lipstick smears _anywhere_ on my person and trying to make my hair look a bit less like I'd been dragged through a doxy nest backwards. It was getting long, I thought, shoving it off my face. I'd need to find some scissors (severing charms work well on most things, but when your wand's _so_ close to your face you tend to lose your nerve a bit. I mean, I quite like all my body parts where they are, thanks very much) and hack it back again. But why, I hear you cry, was I so surprised? No? Oh well. Figure of speech. I'm going to tell you anyway. Usually, at times like this, it took me a minute to rearrange my features into something that looked less like afterglow. But this time, I hadn't needed to. Which meant – shock horror – that _something_, at some stage of the proceedings, had gone quite seriously wrong. It certainly hadn't been the girl (Lucie McCullough, blonde and curvy, big, pouty mouth, absolute sex on legs… very vocal). Something was very, very off. Personally, I blamed the whole fucked-up situation. One measly little kiss (and the crushing burden of guilt this particular one had come with. I mean, I was practically beside myself when I saw him all bandaged up) really shouldn't screw with your head so badly that you _need_ the rebound shag. Then again, you really shouldn't go around snogging your mates, either…

Ah, yes. _That _little can of worms. I didn't know what to make of what had happened. Not even slightly. Not only was it Moony, best friend and partner in crime, the only person with the balls to give me a well-deserved verbal bitchslap when I was being a prick, it was also the _third _bloody time. Or was it? Third? Fourth? I couldn't even remember any more. What does that tell you? God, I just couldn't get away from it. Not even on the full moon nights. Last night, for instance. He'd collapsed against me, still in some pretty serious, heavy-duty pain from turning into a fucking _wolf_, and I'd flipped out and tried to take his head off, acting on the remains of some instinct to stop _anyone _finding out on pain of death. Wait, _finding out_? That was ridiculous. There wasn't anything for anyone to find out _about._ I also wasn't even _thinking _about the psychological damage I was going to get from repressing all the guilt from trying to kill him when he'd honestly _needed _me.

I'm not even making sense anymore. You see, that's one of the million and one things I needed him for. He always knew exactly what I was talking about. Which is some achievement, as half the time _I _haven't got a clue what I'm talking about.

I knew I should have just let sleeping dogs lie (as it were). I _knew_. That didn't mean I was actually going to. What did you expect? It wasn't even really my fault. I was curious. I had so many _questions_ about my best mate beating against the inside of my skull that there was no way in hell I could have Just Left It Alone. It wasn't going to be easy, I thought, as I offered the Fat Lady a profuse and highly insincere apology along with my most charming smile in repentance for waking her up from her nap (luckily, she seems to quite like me. Haven't a clue what that could be about…). Getting anything out of him was going to be _so_ damnably difficult because he was _the cool type_, the one who went in for quiet strength and biting snarkiness instead of hysterics and blurted confessions. Even I didn't know what was going on in that not-quite-so-innocent honey-blonde head of his sometimes. I allowed myself a very small evil grin. It was going to be difficult… if I played fair.

I slouched into the common room, acknowledging the fangirls slightly more than usual – simply because I wanted him to know I was sneaking up on him. I was thinking very carefully about the effect of every single thing I was doing: for instance, I imagined the increased heart rate, the unhealthy, buzzy thrill of anticipation when he realised I was coming. Although, of course, that would only make sense if what I suspected was true was _actually _true. You follow? Good. I was getting so far into my devious plot that if I'd had a beard, I'd have stroked it. I'd have to borrow Professor Dumbledore's sometime. Now, _he _had a beard and a half. Besides – getting away from that _very _odd tangent – you wouldn't believe what an ego-boost it is, having fangirls. The depressing thing is that I can stand in the common room, look round at the girls who suddenly materialise and honestly say that I've been in some kind of misjudged, ill-fated relationship with about half of them. Not even necessarily the more attractive half, either. I scanned the room for him, willingly surrendering to the rush of affection for the place. It's all panelled in dark wood, lit with these warm, creamy-gold lamps and stuffed full of an eclectic collection of armchairs and sofas from all eras and apparently from all over the world. I frowned slightly. Where _was_ he? It was like he was _hiding_ from me or something. Smart boy. If he'd only known what was in my head…

Aha. I'd spotted the glint of lamplight on tawny hair. I tutted. As usual, he was tucked away in one of the little side-chambers, with tables in them so people can work, hidden from the rest of the room by thick, heavy red velvet curtains. Of course, if you _will _offer teenagers privacy like that, you can hardly expect them to use it to catch up on homework. So, naturally, I got a few death glares and a few more curiously raised eyebrows as I made a beeline for the one you could just about see the back of Moony's head in. I carefully wiped the grin off my face. It wouldn't work at all if he _knew _what I was doing. Now I thought about it, the prospect of what I was about to do seemed… a bit daunting, even for me. I mean, if it had been some girl I hardly knew, it would have been a walk in the park. But, somehow, the fact that it was _him_ made it quite a lot harder. Relax, I told myself. Just go into girl-pulling mode. After all, if you can't even do that you're pretty much screwed.

With this cheery thought, I slid through the gap in the curtains, into the little pocket of comparative quiet. And there he was, scribbling away at that Transfiguration essay (which, needless to say, I still needed to do). There was more space than I'd expected: a reasonably large, circular table with five chairs around it (what? If I'm ever in one of these things I'm hardly in any state to be noticing trivial things like _spaciousness_). Again, I squashed the beginnings of a crafty, feline smile. I was about to make the room seem a whole lot smaller to poor Moony. Although I must admit that the fact that he was still half-covered in bandages did make me feel a little bad about what I was about to do. Well, all for the greater good, right?

'Hey, Moon,' I said, in a maddening, I-know-something-you-don't-know voice. He barely glanced up.

'Hi,' he said, clearly not listening. The nerve! No one ignores _me._ Slowly, I draped myself artfully over a chair. Actually, I felt slightly ridiculous. I'd just have to hope that the effect would cancel out how utterly stupid I looked. I waited.

I waited some more… then gave up.

'We-e-ell,' I purred, in my patented you-know-you-want-me voice. It hasn't failed yet. 'Don't you want to know what I've been… doing?' I honestly couldn't have imbued the last word with another ounce of innuendo and _double-entendre_. He sighed, dipping his quill into the pot of ink, still not looking up.

'No, Pad. This may shock you, but I have absolutely no interest in _whom _you've been doing.'

Oh, low blow, Moony, low blow. True, but that wasn't the point. I had to admit, this wasn't going half as well as I'd hoped. Really, he needed to be looking at me. Time for a slightly different approach.

'Moon, have I done something?' I asked, very quietly, in an indecently low voice. This time, I could have sworn I saw him shiver, just a little bit. For a second, I was hopeful, but he just sighed and carried on writing.

'No, Pad, you haven't done anything. I'm just _trying _to work here, and you're not really helping.' His eyes flicked up at me, and I'd swear I saw some unnameable emotion flick across them. But it was gone before I could tell what it was. I didn't know whether to be offended or reassured that this wasn't working.

'Unless,' he said, eyeing me distrustfully, 'You've got a guilty conscience… Tell me, _should _I be pissed off with you?'

I laughed, soft and slightly hoarse. Now, that _had_ to work. I sounded so good I practically got off with myself. _No_, not like that, you perverts. But he wasn't going down so easily. A smile worked its way across his lips, and I nearly had to sit on my hands to quell the sudden and inexplicable impulse to rip his shirt off. God, why today? The big guy up there clearly felt I needed punishing. I made a mental note to check the bible for stories about people sinning and being… er, smited (smote? Smitten?) with _very _unhelpful full-on lust for their friends.

'No guilty conscience. Well, not for you. Swear on my mother's grave.' I made the puppy eyes, but he'd looked down again.

'Your mother isn't _dead_, Sirius, and as a direct result of this is not yet in possession of a grave for you to swear on,' he drawled. I could practically smell the snark in the air. He sounded… _bored_? Maybe I'd been completely wrong. Maybe I'd imagined everything.

'Oh,' I said, feeling that I should say something but not quite knowing how to turn this to my advantage_. Ahh, too late_, I thought. If it had occurred to me a split second later, I could at least have made it an _Ohhhhh_. Now, that would have messed with his head nicely. But there was no time to stop and think about what I could have done. I needed fresh tactics. None of these were working. I sat in silence for a minute, thinking.

'Moon, look at me?' I said, aware that the quicker and more authoritatively I said it, the more likely he'd be to obey without question. Sure enough, his head bobbed up again, the unspoken, resentful _what? _written all over his face. Slowly, sensuously, licking my lips while fixing my eyes on his mouth, I reached out and brushed an imaginary crumb off his cheek.

'You had some food or something there,' I explained, still firmly in bedroom-voice mode. He rolled his eyes, but that time I definitely felt him shudder. Another couple of minutes passed, and I cast around for inspiration for my next attack.

'You know, Moony,' I remarked, gazing objectively at him, 'I think you're working too hard.'

'No, I'm just _working_. I appreciate that it's a foreign concept for you, but this is what it looks like.'

'Seriously,' I said, pointing to the convenient, gilt-framed mirror opposite him. 'You look tired.' The next comment was as far as I could go without him commenting that I was acting weird. Did I dare? Of course I did. 'In fact,' I finished, straight-faced, getting up to walk around behind him and enjoying the pictures in my head more than I should have done, 'I think you need to spend a bit more time in bed.'

He didn't try to twist his head round, choosing instead to just look into the mirror. Perfect. That was just what I'd wanted. I heard the slight, jagged intake of breath when he saw that my mouth was literally a hair's breadth from his ear, now grinning lasciviously (he'd be so proud of my vocabulary there). Actually, I thought, surprised, we _did _look good together, me with vampire-pale skin and winter-dark hair and him, all different shades of gold, like an ancient sculpture of some God or another. Unbidden and rather surprising, my head offered me a picture of his rake-thin, gold-toned body pressed tightly against mine. I blinked. Where had _that _come from? Later, I could stew over that, but for now, I was having fun. Not that it matters, I reminded myself, don't forget you're not _actually _trying to get off with him, just find out whether it's easier than it ought to be to mess with him. And it was working. When he reached up to pass a hand over his eyes in mock-exasperation, I noticed his hand shaking. Brilliant. Was I good or was I good?

'You know,' he snapped, shoving his chair backwards savagely and nearly breaking my legs in the process, 'I'm done.'

And he stormed off… but not before I'd clocked him carefully holding his bag in front of his body.

Then I allowed myself a proper, unbridled grin. It had worked. I was a genius. Then, I started to think a bit about what it actually _meant_ that it had been so very _easy _to turn him on. What did it tell me about Moony? And what did it tell me about myself, that I'd enjoyed it so much? Probably that he was a normal, hormone-riddled teenager and that I was, as I'd been informed by several girls, a 'man-whore', but I couldn't shake the feeling that finally subconsciously acknowledged a whole shedload things I really, really didn't want to think about. Actually, I was starting to wonder if this had been such a good idea after all…

You see, this is the problem with _thinking_. It really takes the fun out of things.

* * *

**Man, that was one long-ass chapter... The thing is, I've got the next one written too. Should I post it later...? Maybe wait a couple of days...?**  
**Review if you want it, bitchezzzzzzz...**  
**Joking, joking. Ish. xD**


	15. Speechless

_I can't believe what you said to me/Last night when we were alone/You threw your hands up/Baby, you gave up, you gave up/I can't believe how you looked at me/With your James Dean glossy eyes/In your tight jeans with your long hair/And your cigarette stained lies/Could we fix you if you broke?/And is your punch line just a joke?/I'll never talk again/Oh, boy, you've left me speechless/You've left me speechless, so speechless/I can't believe how you slurred at me/With your half wired broken jaw/You popped my heart seams…_  
–Lady Gaga, Speechless

Fifth year  
January 1st  
Remus

I knew that fourth firewhiskey was a Bad Idea, but I drank it anyway. Having dissected the night in minute detail, I've come to the conclusion that the fourth drink was the tipping point. If I'd managed to exercise a _speck _of self-control, I wouldn't have had it, and would maybe have retained enough of my brain to stop it from happening. Well, I suppose you'd like to know exactly what _did _happen…

It was like this (officer). Sirius was sulking about something or other. I knew from experience that if you ask him _what _he's sulking about, he just gets very, very depressed. And a depressed Sirius Black is one of the most miserable sights known to creation. So, James suggested that we all sneak out and get our moody friend extremely drunk – it's the only thing that helps, if only because by the next morning he's too busy nursing his hangover to remember why he was upset in the first place. To be perfectly honest, I didn't really fancy it, but God only knows what would have happened if I hadn't gone with them. They'd probably have ended up setting fire to something. Or someone. _Again_. So, slightly reluctantly, I went with them. That's James and Sirius, by the way – Peter was in the Hospital Wing _again_, after Julius Montague had tried to hex Sirius and missed. I had to admit, the boy had the most appallingly dreadful luck with this kind of thing.

Where was I? Oh, right. Sneaking out. Anyway, being the only completely sober one when everyone else is drinking's no fun, and they managed to persuade me to have _one_… Should have known better, really. As they say, one thing led to another, and before I even knew what had happened we were all completely legless. I've got absolutely no idea _how _we managed to get back to the castle without being seen or caught – if we had been, we really would have been screwed. Thank Merlin for James' cloak. Then, with impeccable drunken logic, James thought it would be a really, _really_ good idea to get into the girl's dorm to see Lily… I'm not quite sure what happened with that, but Sirius and I weren't really in any condition to stop him. Minus James, we somehow managed the stairs up to our own dorm without any major injuries, shoving each other and trying to laugh hysterically only _quietly_, but failing truly miserably. The tiny part of me that was remotely less drunk than the rest directed me at my bed, and I flopped down on it gratefully. A second later, an answering thud-boing noise informed me that Sirius had also made it.

There was a momentary silence. Then,

'Moony?'

'Mmhm?'

I could practically hear the puppy eyes in his voice. 'You never ashked my why I was sulking earlier.'

'Shhhh! 'S the middle of the night, Pad!'

(As you can see, I'm still very much myself even when blind drunk. Why I remember every last detail of this is beyond me, but frankly I wish I didn't.)

'Well, come and sit over here, then,' he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I rolled my eyes. Silly Sirius.

'That won't make 'ny difference, Pad.'

'Will. I put a shilencing charm on it.'

I was impressed, I think. Possibly just to avoid the blatantly obvious explanation for _why _he'd needed to put a silencing charm on his bed, I stumbled over.

'Sho,' I slurred, idly wondering why the world undulating slightly, even though we were inside and all the windows were closed. 'Why _were_ you shul… er, sulking earlier?'

He smiled beatifically, looking every inch the manipulative child. Then, faster than a summer storm, the smile was gone, replaced by wickedly sparkling eyes and a vampire grin. Slowly, slowly, he leant towards me. Screw an imploded brain, I was _this close _to a motherfucking heart attack. Oh, God, he was _too fucking close_, I needed more space than he was giving me if I wanted to retain one milligram of self control. Any closer and I wouldn't be responsible for my actions. I could feel every stitch of clothing I was wearing, see every shade of silver in his eyes and every glistening strand of hair, smell the smoke and firewhiskey on his breath. I sat there, quivering, fighting every last cell as my body battled with what was left of my mind. What to do now?

'Want to know a secret?' he whispered, low and husky and indecently tempting, his mouth _this close _to my ear. Hauling my mind out of the gutter, I licked my lips, not entirely sure if I trusted myself to speak. Instead, I just nodded, and even that took up a perilously large part of what cognitive functions I had left. I needed everything I had just to stop myself thinking _fuck this _and jumping him (which wouldn't have gone over well). It also didn't escape me that it wasn't the first time I'd ridden this exact train of thought. He shoved me reproachfully, and since I'm not exactly what you'd call coordinated at the best of times I nearly fell right out onto the floor. Which, frankly, would have been a blessing in disguise, _anything_ to break this damned tension. But, unfortunately, I managed to stay put.

'Answer me!' he whined, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me to look at him. It struck me how much more clearly I could see his personality when he was drunk: that exact, fifty-fifty split between childish and maddeningly sexy.

'Yes,' I croaked, wondering exactly where my voice had buggered off to. He leant even closer. A shudder clawed its way over every inch of me. I could feel the heat rolling off his skin. He was almost _magnetic_, and it was getting harder with every passing second not to just throw myself at him.

'_I don't remember,_' he whispered, on the verge of laughing again, voice low and hoarse with a slight catch in it. A roar of hot blood surged southwards. Oh, hell. _That _wasn't going to make things any easier. I didn't even have a convenient book or bag to arrange in my lap to hide it. I sat back, gazing at him in confusion. I'd just have to hope that he wouldn't notice.

'You don't _remember_?'

He shook his head, grinning again, mercurial as ever. 'Nope. When we were in the Hog'sh Head I could short of remember something… Then I thought, this is an opportunity, right? Makes no sense to waste it. I mean, there was some reason why this was a really bad idea…' he shrugged. 'But I don' remember what it was, do I? So it can't have been _that _important. I'm sure I'll regret it tomorrow, but whatever, right?'

I had a nagging feeling I'd been going to ask him something the next time he was completely off his face like this, but naturally I had no idea what it was. Now I was completely lost, and I think I expressed this as well as I could, given the circumstances. 'Eh?'

He rolled his eyes, like I was being unusually and surpassingly stupid.

'Idiot,' he slurred, but his eyes were burning, effectively shredding my already slippery self-control. I could almost taste the pheromones rolling off him in waves in a way they never had before. He'd been holding back. Fuck, fuck, _fuck. _I knew, really, that I wasn't going to be in any fit state to resist. Then, as if on cue, with an almost endearing complete lack of coordination and restraint, he pitched forwards and kissed me, harder than he ever had before, almost _desperately_, knotting his fingers in my hair and pressing insistently against me. His lips crushed ferociously down on mine, so hot they were almost painful, tastinglickingbiting, and somehow I rather lost the will to fight. My eyes widened in shock for a split second before I just _gave in_. I could almost taste the electricity sparking in the air, and lust and want and plain old _need_ tore through every vein, making me moan and push closer to him, starting that familiar ache burning inside me. He kissed back triumphantly, passionately, roughly, frantically, making me forget my own name in under a minute, triggering a string of violent, electric reactions through my entire _being_. All I could think about was how completely and unutterably _good _this was going to be. This was it, I realised, the fireworks moment people in love rave about. I held him tighter, feeling his arms slip around me – one hand tugging painfully at my hair and forcing my mouth onto his, the other on the small of my back, pulling me so close I could literally hardly breathe – and a string of kisses, falling like stars, trailing down my neck. He bit down on my bottom lip and I tasted blood, mixing with the smoke and alcohol, and I heard my own abject whimper almost as if it hadn't come from me at all. I could feel every last inch of that perfect body, but it wasn't enough, and I didn't protest even when I could feel his hipbones grinding against mine. Oh, Gods – I'd never wanted anything or anyone like this before, and he knew it. Gradually, the kisses hardened, getting more urgent, hands running over my body and making me shiver, body moving against mine, moaning softly. I bit back on his lip and his hips bucked against me. An incoherent moan slid out of him, his eyes half-closing. Impatiently, clumsily, with booze-numbed hands, he tore at my shirt and I started on his. Both of us were far too turned on and far too drunk to do this with any kind of finesse.

'Gonna make you scream for me, Moony,' he taunted, in a low, hoarse, half-smiling whisper, pulling away for a minute before dragging me back into a fierce kiss that tasted of smoke and firewhiskey and something almost unbearably bittersweet. I couldn't have disagreed even if I'd wanted to. A ragged, uneven gasp tore its way out of me as his hand slid down between us.

'Oh, _Gods_… Sirius… Fuck…'

A rough, whispery laugh. 'You haven't seen anything yet,' he half-growled, trailing his hand down my chest, over my stomach and resting it teasingly lightly between my hipbones, flushing liquid fire through me. Two could play at that game. I slid a hand down, making for the fly of his jeans.

He gasped, anguished and breathless and ecstatic, before setting to work again with his tongue like we were running out of time.

I let it happen.

And so, you see, it really _was_ all my fault.

* * *

**Yeah, I went there.**


	16. Waking Up In Vegas

_You gotta help me out/it's all a blur last night/spare me your freakin' dirty looks now/don't blame me…  
_–Katy Perry, Waking Up In Vegas

Fifth year  
January 7th  
Sirius

It was all going pretty well. Until I woke up, that is. At first, all I knew was that the mother of all hangovers was already beating away at the inside of my head. Not opening my eyes in case I threw up, I gingerly followed that thought. _I have a hangover… therefore, I _was_ recently drunk. Or, rather, chronically and severely pissed if this fucker of a headache is anything to go by._ I could feel the sheets were sweaty and sticky, and I just _knew _that when I opened my eyes I'd see they looked like a tornado had recently passed through. Well, that all pointed fairly solidly to one thing. I could feel a warm, sleepy body curled up next to me, sweat-matted hair tickling my shoulder. Oh _dear. _The fact that she was still here implied that she expected some kind of a relationship. Exactly what I _didn't _want or need at all right now, particularly as I had absolutely no clue who she was, which rather pointed to the fact that she was hardly the great love of my life.

Then my stomach lurched sickeningly and my eyes snapped open, staring at the velvet drapes over my head. The wave of nausea died back slightly. I lay there, still as a statue, barely breathing, hoping it would go away and I wouldn't have to sprint to the bathroom in the freezing cold. I was just starting to think that maybe I'd manage to make it without throwing up when I started _remembering_. At first it was just flashes – stifled laughter and frantic whispers and thick darkness. I frowned. The mental exertion sure as hell wasn't helping my head. I'd come back with Moony… That was right; James had gone to see Lily. Again. Something there didn't quite add up – where had the mysterious girl come from? There had definitely _been_ a girl; after all, she was still _here_. The flashes were speeding up, cascading instead of trickling now, leaving me in absolutely no doubt about how the night had ended for me. Of course, it had been dark, but I was getting words – _Oh, God! Sirius… Ahh! Right there… _– and Feelings. With a capital F. I might not have known who she was, but, Jesus Christ, she'd been bloody good. I hadn't felt so chipper with this big a hangover in… ever, actually. I was going to have to have a serious think about this relationship thing. Because, clearly, we'd shagged, and it had been bloody fantastic. More and more of the details were swimming back: I was getting amber eyes, soft, short hair – pixie cut? I could go for that – and a disturbingly familiar voice. A friend's girlfriend? That was going to be tricky.

Then, finally, I got a clear picture.

Last night's frantic, drunken fuck, head tipped back and eyes half closed, moaning my name as she – no, not she, _he _– came.

Then I really _did_ run for the bathroom.

* * *

**MWAHAHAHAHA! The mini-chapters return. Hope you enjoyed despite the miniatureness… Reviewers get a cookie. A big one. With chocolate chips and smarties. Also, I usually try to reply properly to every signed review I get… But that kind of went to hell on the last chapter… Damn school. So, sorry! Honestly. I'm going to issue the blanket statement that you are ALL the pinnacle of awesome, I'm glad you enjoyed and you all get XXL cookies. Seriously, go and google big cookie and pick one.**

**And you all get proper replies next time. Sorry for my fail… **


	17. What I Didn't Say

**MUAHAHAHA... Update spam!**

* * *

_Maybe I was never as smart as I thought/Maybe we could never be as good as we want/Maybe you just didn't need me enough/Maybe we're too clever to be falling in love like this…/Secrets told in the silence of my sin/And I'm the one who loses in the end/So I let you go/And I watch you leave/And I hold my breath/So you don't hear me scream/You walk away/But the words are only in my head/It's not what I said that's keeping me awake/It's what I didn't say…  
_–Saving Jane, What I Didn't Say

Fifth year  
January 7th  
Remus

'It was a mistake.'

Oh, Gods. That hurt more than anything else he'd said that morning.

This is what gets me: I spend hours agonising over the fact that _if _I ever screw up the courage to just spit it out and _tell _him that I might be slightly hopelessly and irredeemably in love with him and he flips out, it's buh-bye to my best friend. Then, after all that, we both get completely smashed, end up in bed, and the only thing making me choke back that humiliating, blurted confession at every turn goes right ahead and happens anyway, without so much as a by-your-leave.

(I'd like to take this opportunity to warn you that you can expect even more gratuitous sarcasm and bitchiness than usual from this point onwards. It's just how I deal with things.)

'Right,' I said, trying (and failing, it should be noted) not to sound bitter and thoroughly miserable. I was, of course, but that's beside the point. In fact, when I thought about it, I didn't even know why I was bothering to try. It hardly mattered anyway. The only reason I wasn't already curled into an abject, whimpering ball of misery and hurt was because the reality of what was happening hadn't quite sunk in yet. 'Yeah, that's what it was. A mistake.'

It was a Saturday, and everyone else seemed to have already gone down to breakfast, leaving us alone in the dorm. To sum up, it couldn't really have been any more awkward. At first (this is once he'd finished throwing up), he'd predictably panicked aimlessly for a while, pacing like a caged animal and waving his arms around, not looking at me once, going on and on and on like the world would end if anyone _ever_ found out. Yeah, because no one in this _entire _school – hell, no one on the entire _planet_ – ever got drunk and did a friend before (I now rather wish I'd actually said this). In a numb, dazed state, I said nothing, waiting for him to tire himself out. And he had, eventually, slowing down like a toy that needed winding up, before slumping down on his bed, avoiding my eyes like he was convinced he was going to get the bubonic plague just from looking at me. Because, of course, it was _Sirius. _Naturally, he couldn't just let it go with a cheerful, '_one day, we'll look back on this, laugh nervously and change the subject_'. That was when he said it – _it was a mistake_.

The reason, I realised, that this particular comment, spoken in such a flat, dead voice really, _really _stung, was because I'd _hoped_. Sure, I hadn't realised I'd been doing it, but I had. I'd hoped that if and when something like this happened, it would make him see. But, clearly, all it had done was make him run away (again. I can't imagine how bored you must be getting here). Possibly this time for good. And that, as I freely admit, was a nasty shock.

For a long time, neither of us said anything. That's not to say that neither of us had anything _to_ say – I could practically _smell_ the unspoken resentment, the fear, the sadness, the pleading, the hopelessness of the could-have-been, crushed before it had even had a chance. I would have talked for hours, but I just… _didn't_. I know, I know. It's pathetic. But I was tongue-tied. Something had broken, irreparably. Not my _heart_, obviously, because that would be painfully cheesy, the fact that it was already in bits notwithstanding. No, what I was dealing with was the double whammy of the fact that 1) I really did have absolutely no chance and 2) I'd just lost my best friend. Ouch. When I'd pulled myself a sufficient distance out of my self-preserving daze (because, really, if the full implications of this whole mess had struck me then, I don't like to think about what would have happened. But it wouldn't have been pretty) to look up at him, he'd already gone.

And so, I thought glumly, it begins. Get used to it, because this is how it's gonna be from now on.

* * *

**Oh, God. You all hate me now, don't you? Well, fair enough. But it's not over yet…**

* * *

January 12th

There was, however, one thing I hadn't been banking on. Or rather, two. To be precise, a certain two things which went by the names of James Potter and Peter Pettigrew. See also, _friends_. The trouble with being in a mutual state of avoidance and embarrassment-related cold-shouldering with Sirius was that we'd been so close. Which, of course, meant that people were going to _notice _the sudden and drastic change. I suppose, on reflection, I shouldn't have been at all surprised.

'Moon?'

'What, James?' I wasn't in the best of moods. I was trying to get the DADA homework done, but the words just kept blurring into each other, rearranging themselves into all the things I _should _have said.

'Come on,' he said, simply, seizing my arm and hauling me off to the dorm. Since whatever he wanted me for was apparently too sensitive for the common room, I decided that it was probably better _not _to ask what it was about.

'Sit,' he pronounced. Now feeling more than a little bit curious, I sat. We didn't have to wait long before Peter arrived with Sirius in tow, and _that_ was when I realised what they'd brought us here for. I saw him freeze for a split second, something that could have been anything from regret to disgust passing across his eyes. A fact, I was sure, that hadn't escaped the bespectacled yet alarmingly perceptive James. Reluctantly, Sirius flopped down on the bed opposite me, but Peter and James were still standing. I really should have noticed the grimly determined expressions, which were, in all fairness, a fairly blatant warning sign of what was to come.

'Right,' said James, in that particular bulldozing tone that brooked absolutely no argument. The boy would have made a brilliant (if amoral) politician. 'You two haven't said a word to each other since Saturday, and frankly it's a pain in the arse for everyone. Whatever happened with you two, you're both going to apologise. _Now. _And then you're going to forget all about it.'

If only. I laughed, or at least I tried, but it came out as a mirthless, inhuman bark. 'Thanks, James, but no thanks. I think we're a bit past that.'

He rolled his eyes. 'Come _on_, guys. It can't have been _that_ big a fight.'

This statement was met with stony silence.

We were still both looking everywhere but each other. Inwardly, I was screaming for James and Peter to just _leave it alone_, because otherwise, if we gave them long enough, they'd realise that we weren't _angry _with each other, as such. And once they'd figured that out, it was a hop, skip and a jump to where we _really_ were. Maybe I was being paranoid, but of course that wasn't how I saw it then. That's the thing about hindsight, it's always 20/20. Wearily, James passed a hand over his eyes.

'Look, you two. I don't know what this is about and clearly neither of you want to tell me. But you're just making it difficult for everyone. So, I'm asking for the last bloody time – _please_ just apologise and forget about it.'

'It's not so much that there's something to '_apologise_' for,' drawled Sirius, in a weak imitation of his old cockiness. Something deep down in my gut twisted painfully. James pinched the bridge of his nose, tipping his head back. Peter looked at him.

'The last resort?'

'I think it'll have to be.'

With identical, martyred expressions of regret, they both produced wands. I sighed. 'Really? You're going to threaten us at… er, wand-point?'

'You wish, Moon.'

With this snappy rejoinder, James glanced at Peter. 'On three?'

'Right.'

'We're sorry, guys, we really are. But we did ask. And you said no. So really, you didn't give us much choice…' James looked almost… regretful. And that terrified me.

'James? Peter? What are you doing?' Even Sirius, who spent a large proportion of his time doing an impression of a cucumber (by that I mean being _cool_, not lying around in salads, idiot) sounded faintly alarmed.

'Look, again. We're sorry. Although why we're apologising I don't know, seeing as you're not going to remember… Ready, Pete?'

'Ready.'

'Don't you dare...'

'One…'

'James! _What. Are. You. Doing?_'

'Two…'

'You can't be serious...'

'You have no idea what you're even doing! This all going to go horribly wrong!'

'Three… _Obliviate_!'

There was a muffled explosion.

I blinked slowly. 'Guys? What are we doing here?'

Sirius, somehow managing to look sinfully tempting even when wearing an expression of utter confusion, frowned. 'Search me. What were we doing earlier?'

'Um… Thursday. Charms, must have been.'

'That was it, Charms,' said James, a little too quickly. 'And if we don't leave now, we'll be late for Transfiguration. C'mon…'

I got up and made for the stairs, but not before I'd caught James and Peter sharing a tiny, triumphant, delighted smirk.

Odd. Very, _very_ odd. Besides, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that there was something I'd forgotten. Suspicious? I think so.

* * *

**Yes, alright, it sounds like *a bit* of a cop-out now...**

**But I've got it all under control.**

**Honest, officer.**


	18. Drumming Song

**Full circle time! Man, I can't believe how close to the end we are – chapter 18 of 21, y'all. The rest's written, so it'll be up soon… ish.  
*proof reads* **_**Y'all**_**? Really? Oh, God, did I just say that? I'm **_**English**_**, for crying out loud…  
Please excuse me, I'm going to go die in a hole.**

* * *

_There's a drumming noise inside my head/that starts when you're around/I swear that you could hear it/it makes such an almighty sound/louder than sirens/louder than bells/sweeter than heaven/and hotter than hell/I __run to the river and dive straight in/I pray that the water will drown out the din/But as the water fills my mouth/It couldn't wash the echoes out/I swallow the sound and it swallows me whole/Till there's nothing left inside my soul/As empty as that beating drum/But the sound has just begun…  
_–Florence and the Machine, Drumming Song

Fifth Year  
March 8th  
Sirius

You know what I never realised? How bloody difficult it is to pretend to be happy for someone when they've got something completely, utterly perfect and all you've got is a vague sense that you're missing someone– What? No, sorry, some_thing_. Take, for example… James. So he'd _finally_ hooked up with Lily Evans. Whoopee for him. But, I mean, we all knew it was going to happen in the end. Don't even know why she ever bothered resisting. A low growl twisted out from between my teeth. That snapped me out of it. I had to be careful – I was still getting used to this animagus thing, even after all this time. Sometimes, the animal traits just slip out. It was like that little jolt had blasted the cobwebs out of my head – what had I been thinking? James had been properly in love with Lily since he was… what, eleven? Twelve? I should have been thrilled to bits for him. He was my best mate (or one of them), after all. So why couldn't I screw up any real happiness for him? Scowling, I stabbed my quill violently into the inkpot. Damn James, with his perfect relationship. And damn this stupid essay, as well. How was _I _supposed to know about the potential hazards of reverse human transmogrification? I was a marauder, for Pete's (I always wondered – who _is _Pete?) sake! Marauders didn't know about potential hazards. Only whether or not something was strictly forbidden and therefore a good idea. I huffed, fully aware that I was acting like a spoilt child but not caring, and slumped even deeper into the overstuffed armchair. It probably didn't help that James'n'Lily, as I was going to have to get used to them, were directly opposite me, less than ten metres away, somehow squidged onto one chair, attached at the mouth. Why in the name of Merlin's pants wasn't I nodding approvingly and making nudge-nudge-wink-wink comments to anyone who'd listen? Because you're _jealous_, retorted the other half of my head. I couldn't deny it. This, I thought drily, would be the ideal time for that so-corny-it-actually-hurts _your-soulmate-is-right-under-your-nose _cliché.

'Hey, Pad.' I started. I'd been so busy brooding I hadn't heard Moony sneaking up on me. Evidently not in a better mood than I was, he flopped down into the chair next to me. He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in a way that for some reason made me feel slightly… Uneasy? No, that wasn't the word. But it… bothered me. Let me elaborate on that – it stirred up all these funny little fragments of things, low laughter and guttural, animal moans, things I would have normally written off as dreams, but too… real, somehow, too sharp, too clear. More like half-remembered, but they _couldn't_ have been. I mean, there are some things you don't forget. You follow? Well, if they _had_ been dreams, I didn't know whether or not to be glad I couldn't quite pin them down.

'So you've seen them too?' he said, dully, mirroring my feelings so perfectly I got chills. I nodded glumly, my hand aching for a firewhiskey. Or something with a similar alcohol content.

'Bloody depressing, isn't it?' I said, gloomily. He shook his head, his eyes unusually dark and hollow, fixed on the happy couple.

'It's not that. It's not the first time one of us's got off with someone. We've never minded before.'

'True, that,' I said, not really knowing why I was surprised. Moony was always right about this kind of thing. He had that thing… What's it called? Emotional intelligence. That's the one. 'It's not even like they're _doing _anything–' I got a martyred eyeroll for that '–So why is it _bothering _us so much? Neither of us is secretly in love with Lily. James is our mate. Why are we so bummed out just 'cause he's got a girlfriend now?'

He shook his head again, hair glinting molten-gold in the lamplight, still watching them, but blindly, like he wasn't really _seeing_.

'But that's exactly it,' he said. 'She's more than just another girlfriend. _It's_ more than that. Look at them. Look at the way he's just _holding _her. It's not even love, it's like… gravity.'

Once again, he was right on the money. How could he just see all this? It was like he had an extra sense or something, I swear to God. Maybe it was a wolf thing. Or, then again, maybe it was just a Remus thing. Whenever we pointed out his superpowers to him, he always just laughed it off and chalked it up to a functioning brain connected to a functioning pair of eyes. In my second spoilt-child moment of the day, I was struck down by the sudden, illogical impulse to prove him wrong. After all, I had eyes. And a brain that functioned well enough to allow for most basic functions, ergo, it counted as a function_ing _brain. No matter how hard Ilooked, _I_ never saw any of the stuff that just seemed to jump out at _him_. So I looked over at him – just looked. For a few seconds, there was nothing. He was just… Moony. _My _Moony. My sometimes-confusing-scary-maybe-Moony.

And then, I saw it and my breath hitched slightly. It was like one of those muggle puzzles – the little 3D mazes you have to tip to get the balls through. And by looking, I'd just tipped it just the right way, making the realisation drop comfortably into my head like a galleon into a slot.

He was miserable. Utterly, truly and deeply. Genuinely heartbroken. It was there in the dull, lifeless cast of his eyes, the gaunt shadows under his cheekbones, the greyish, unhealthy skin that should have been pale gold, the slump so deep he looked like something fairly crucial had been taken out of his spine, the breaths so shallow he could almost have been a corpse.

Then, realisation number two. He'd always been cynical and sarcastic, i.e. not the perpetually cheery and optimistic type, but there was a difference between that and properly messed up. So, what else could I work out? He was clearly preoccupied. Clearly affected by the sight of James and Lily. Clearly decidedly unhappy about something. And, from the wistful note in his voice when he'd been talking about them, clearly as jealous as I was, but he was… hopeless. So, the obvious question – what or who had done this to him? And it hit me. Jealous. Sleepless. Unhappy. Preoccupied. Lifeless. All lots of words, all lots of different bits of one thing: _Heartbroken_.

Oh, God. Oh, _God_. My fingers dug convulsively into the arms of the chair. I'd wondered, vaguely vengeful and indignant, who'd hurt him like this. Had it been… me? Now I thought about it, I could see all too clearly why he'd be miserable. Why he had every reason to hate my cowardly guts. The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I did try, honestly, but, somehow, I just couldn't stop my brain constructing a criss-cross, wrought iron lattice of misery and confusion for Moony. _What do I do now?/Do I say something?/Is it all his idea of a joke?/Why does he keep doing this?/Could he be genuine for once?/If he is, should I be the bigger person?/Did I scare him off? _Closing my eyes, I flicked backwards through the all-too-clear memories of those pivotal moments for both of us, two completely different futures forking away from each one. I'd confused him, messed him around, made him think I – I swallowed, the word felt strange, but I couldn't deny it was the right one – at the very least _wanted_ him, then run away every time my head started trying to remind me who I was… I let out a black chuckle. I'd never really grasped the aptness of the phrase _falling for_ before. It was perfect: the implied descent, the abandon, the blind terror, the likelihood of people getting hurt. My stomach twisted uneasily. The thought of him – poor, sweet, Moony – getting hurt because I was a complete dickhead just didn't sit well.

It was there, even then. The final revelation: short and bittersweet and so _painfully _obvious, beating through my body, in my blood, in every cell, head and heart and everything in between. How had I not _seen_ it before?! I could _hear_ it, one word per heartbeat.I sincerely hope you've realised what it was by now. I'm not even going to bother saying it. No, that's a lie – I am. _Oh, _hell, I thought. _I think I might be… _[insert uneasy swallow here] _…just a bit in love with him_.

Oh, _God. _Unsteadily, trying frantically to look like I was none the wiser than I had been a minute ago, trying not to look like my world had just been well and truly rocked, I stood up. He glanced at me quizzically. The real Moony, the pale, distracted shadow, was carefully hidden again behind a perfect mask. Oh, Merlin's balls, I'd fucked him up so badly he needed to pretend to be himself. Well, that explained a lot – why everything had got so _weird_ lately, for a start.

'I need a drink,' I said, thoroughly truthfully. _Before the guilt over what I've done to you can set in_, I thought, as something inside me yanked painfully at the sight of a glimpse of poor, messed up Moony that had slipped through a crack in the mask. _And before I can start to wonder what in the name of arse I'm going to do now._

Jesus. You ever tried to explain to someone that you're absolutely head-over-heels in bloody _love _with them?

It's not so easy.


	19. Always

_I love you/I hate you/I can't get around you/I breathe you/I taste you/I can't live without you/I just can't take any more/this life of solitude/I guess that I'm out the door/and now I'm done with you…  
_–Saliva, Always

Fifth year  
May 19th  
Remus

As usual, I was trying to work and, as usual, he was distracting me. It was familiar now, that violent yank in my chest every time I saw him. Familiar, maybe, but not comfortable. Being in love? Really, _really_ not all it's cracked up to be. The dorm was empty except for me, and he wandered in – painfully, achingly unobtainable as ever – with this odd, abstracted expression on his face. Dreaming wide awake, clearly. Odd. Very much so, in fact. He plopped down on his bed, gazing blindly at the ceiling. For all the attention he'd paid me, I might as well have been a ghost. What in the name of Merlin's pants was wrong with him? Something serious, clearly; he looked almost _pensive_. I cleared my throat pointedly.

'Alright, Pad?' I asked, genuinely concerned, eyeing him over the top of my book and thoroughly grateful for my flawlessly practiced casual tone. That's the thing about living a lie; you get good at it. 'What happened to that redhead you were with earlier?'

He looked at me, and for a second it was obvious he had absolutely no idea who I was talking about.

'Who?' he said. 'Oh… _that _one…' Something was off here, and I'd just about got this thought firmly fixed in my head when he waved a hand in an airy, nonchalant gesture. A delicious, forbidden shiver crawled down my spine, starting at the back of my neck and ending up Somewhere Else altogether. For a split second, I was overwhelmed by déjà vu, then I caught myself. Honestly, I'd been living so much in my little fantasies that I'd subconsciously started believing them. Now, that can't be healthy. To be honest, I'd wondered what he'd say if he knew what those hands did to me. I'd also wondered to exactly what extent my frankly ridiculous and embarrassing feelings for him were due to the fact that it was so completely _verboten_. Of course, these little musings have only ever lasted until I next saw him. Because then I remembered: Oh, right. _That's _why. I gave him my patented eye roll. Even, I'd like to point out, through the double emotional dimensions of genuine alarm and wanting to scream and rage and despair because he's so utterly fucking _Sirius_. That's dedication for you. Anyway, not a single flippant comment had passed those perfect lips in the few seconds he'd been in the room. That was some kind of all-time record for him. Now I was really, _really_ worried.

'Merlin, Pad,' I said, only half-teasing, 'How many redheaded girls did you _do_ earlier?'

Of course, it hurt to ask. It hurt like hell to even _think_ about it. I'm kind of assuming you've taken that as read. But, hey, I was used to it. If he wasn't an appallingly promiscuous cocky little bastard he wouldn't have been Sirius Black. Besides, the only way to keep him as a friend was to _not_ act like a crazed fangirl. I played the part rather well, even if I did say so myself – after all, I'd been doing it for years. Or at least, _well enough_.

'That's not where I was,' he said, 'I was… walking. By the lake.'

He was telling the truth, I _thought_, but it was a risibly artless and frankly concerning evasion of the question.

'I chucked her,' he went on, gazing out of one of the tower room's little lancet windows. I sighed, right from the very depths of my lungs, the emergency parts that you'd usually only use to get your last words out when there's a dagger sticking out of you or something. _Chucked_? Really, Sirius? You can be so charming when you want to be. Why must you make a conscious effort to act like an utter prick? Ignoring the reminder of one of the things I absolutely couldn't stand about him, I raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. No point in putting up with him if you don't get to bait him a little now and then.

'I didn't think it was really enough of a _relationship_ to merit a breakup.'

I don't know why I do it, really. Get into these conversations, I mean. By the time they're over I'm usually contemplating either suicide or homicide. I'm probably borderline self-harming; I _know _it's not good for me, but I ask the questions anyway, every single time.

He chuckled faintly at my weak jibe. 'She talked too much. You know the type – yapping away all the time, talking my ear off…' he offered a pale, lacklustre imitation of a rueful, confidential smile. And again, with the faked crassness. Did he honestly think I didn't know him better than that? Besides, he knew perfectly well I didn't know the type. I didn't _date. _What in the name of Merlin's most baggy Y-fronts was wrong with him? I wasn't remotely fooled. Not in the slightest. In fact, I realised, indignation stirring in the pit of my stomach, I was rather insulted that he thought I could be fobbed off so easily. And that he thought I _needed _to be fobbed off. Really, by then I was at the stage of thinking that he could do very little to shock me. Why was he going out of his way to spin this glaringly obviously untrue and completely unnecessary story?

'C'mon, Moon,' he said, rising unsteadily and cracking his head sharply on one of the low beams. I raised the other eyebrow. Curiouser and curiouser. Not only was Sirius supremely coordinated (jammy bastard), he'd also spent an awful lot of time in this room. More specifically, in that bed, more often than not doing things I probably didn't want to know about. He'd mastered the art of getting out of it without causing himself a fractured skull within a week of arriving here. What was going on with him today? 'We've gotta be going,' he continued. 'We'll be late for, er…' he consulted his timetable, something I'd seen him do only a few times before when he was trying to work out which free periods he could use to slope off with (a) girl(s). 'History of magic…'

Dropping my book – The _Longer Ancient Runes Dictionary_, if you don't mind – I followed him. I had to. 'Sirius,' I said, sharply. He turned. 'Mate, I've known you for _six years_,' I continued, a bit more gently. 'History of Magic doesn't start for another half hour and you've never been worried about being late for anything in your life. A _troll_ could see there's something wrong with you. What the_ hell_ is so awful you can't even tell–?'

I never finished. He'd lunged so fast he was a blur, seizing my shoulders and slamming me against the wall. He was breathing hard, and I could see the volatile summer lightning in those stormy eyes.

'Ow!' I yelped. 'What was that for?!' Embarrassingly, my voice had rocketed through nearly a full octave, more from shock than actual pain. The fact that he was so close I could taste the heat rolling off his skin probably wasn't helping. He was absolutely furious, I realised with a slight tingle of fear, angrier than I'd ever seen him. He hadn't been this angry when he'd caught those seventh years giving me a hard time, or when he'd been banned from Quidditch practice because his fangirls distracted the other players. I could smell it, taste it in the air. God, what had I done to piss him off so badly? His eyes (quicksilver) bored into mine, effectively derailing any and all trains of thought I might have had.

'That,' he snapped, after we'd stood there in silence for just long enough for it to be awkward, 'was for being an insensitive dickhead! You know bloody well what's wrong with me! It's _because _it's you that I can't tell you!' he shoved me again, for emphasis. Naturally, I just stood there, letting it happen, letting that unaccountable fury run its course, completely lost and thoroughly confused. His eyes searched my face the way I'd wished over and over again for his hands, his mouth to search my body. He was _begging_ me to understand. He groaned, frustrated now.

'Oh, fuck it all,' he murmured, his voice burningly, painfully intense. For a _normal_ person (as opposed to Sirius), the kind of voice you only used with someone you were sleeping with. Instinctively, I tried to back away before I embarrassed myself (more than I already had, that is), but I was already about as close to the wall as I could have been, short of just melding right into the stone.

Then, before I could think, his mouth crushed down on mine, hard and burning, possessive and angry. All-engulfing. Familiar?

It took me a few seconds longer than it should have done for me to form the thought that I couldn't, _wouldn't,_ do this again. How many times had I started hoping? Too many. With a mysterious, irrational burst of strength, I managed to work my hands between us and shove him away from me. He staggered backwards, unbalanced. Oh, Merlin. He looked _hurt_. That was a thousand times worse than angry.

'Why?' he said, that husky, smoky voice barely more than a whisper. He sounded _broken_, and I was literally _this _fucking close to going to him, letting him in, saying it was all ok, but I held my ground. 'I thought… You…' he trailed off. How on earth did he do it?! He didn't look even slightly put out. If it had been me, I would have spontaneously combusted by now out of sheer mortification.

'I _do_. Like you wouldn't believe. But that's not the _point_! We've been here before. And every single damn time, you've run away. I don't know if you're scared, or if this is all one big game to you or _what_, but you're not doing it again.' It was all coming out now, all of this gag-inducingly bitter resentment I hadn't really realised I'd had. Not it was my turn to be angry. 'I know it's been _bred _into you that you're so much better than anyone else,' his face hardened; that had been a low blow and we both knew it, 'but you've got no fucking _right_ to do this! This is it.' I was breathing hard too now, nearly as angry as he'd been. 'Either you grow a pair and do this properly, or you leave me the hell alone.' I barged past him, but halfway down the stairs I turned back. He hadn't moved an inch. He looked completely shell shocked.

'I'm not your toy, Sirius Black,' I said, softly. 'And I'm not your fuck-buddy either. This is the day you work that out.'

I sat in the common room and seethed for a while, getting progressively more irate and progressively more certain I'd done exactly the right thing. Just because girls (and boys) fell at his feet in droves and he looked like someone's (my) every sexual fantasy brought to vibrant, mesmerising life, that didn't make it even _slightly _ok for him to regularly screw with my head (and other things) like this. I groaned aloud, dropping my head into my hands, only semi-aware of the other twenty-odd people in the room. He was under my skin, in every vein and artery, burned into my _mind_. Sickening. _Well_, I thought, dully. _It's well and truly his move_.

'Moony?' My head jerked up like a puppet's, and I hated myself for it. It was him, of course. It was pathetic. _I _was pathetic. 'Can I talk to you for a minute? In the dorm?'

I didn't say anything, but, once again, I followed him. I'm not proud of it, but what would _you_ have done?

Exactly.

* * *

**Oh my Godddddd, the memories… This was the first chapter I wrote… I seem to recall being very, very amused by the fact that I was in the school library, using the time I should have been spending on French homework to write slash fanfic. Good times, good times…**

**Speaking of French homework…**


	20. Attention

**Ohmaigahd… THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! No, seriously. I love you all. I actually do. You didn't even see my happy dance when I opened my e-mail this morning, but it was pretty impressive. No, seriously. I **_**actually **_**did a little happy dance. So, this is for all of you who've reviewed again and again – (*sepulchral voice* you know who you are…) 'cause I know how you hate cliffies…  
One more after this… TT^TT  
I'm going to miss it. I really am. I shall have to write fluff to fill the void.  
*kills tangent*  
Enjoy :)**

* * *

_Why can't you see/that I'm starving for your love and I/need attention/or I'm gonna die?  
_–Tokio Hotel, Attention

Fifth year  
May 19th  
Sirius

Well, he'd followed me. Which was a serious improvement on the flat refusal I thoroughly deserved. In fact, I was a bit too wrapped up in my little achievement – to the point that when he'd sat down opposite me, face guarded and wary, not giving anything away, I had absolutely no idea what to say to him. I couldn't believe how _different _he'd looked since my little revelation. Obviously, all that had changed was the way I was seeing him, but it was still a lot to get my head around. The way he'd always seemed to be made of a million and one different shades of gold had never been more than a passing curiosity before; now it was something I could have stared at for hours.

Well, I could hardly put it off any longer. I'd been sitting there with my mouth open in an unattractively fishy way, trying to find the words, for at least twice as long as is socially acceptable. I cleared my throat nervously. He looked at me like a condemned man waiting for the axe to drop, in a way that made me want to fling my arms around him and never let go. I'd known, really, when he'd walked away earlier, that I was never going to be able to just let him go. But, I reminded myself, I'd be lucky if he didn't shoot me down, after how I'd behaved.

'I, er, guess I'd better start with an apology.'

He'd opened his mouth, but I cut him off. 'I hadn't _finished, _Moon. So, um, I'm sorry. Really, really sorry, for screwing you over all those times.' Ugh, no, that sounded dirty, not at all what I was going for… Bloody _hell_, apologising is difficult, 'And…' come on, keep it together, all we need is a coherent sentence here, 'I think I'll be taking your advice about growing a pair and–'

The tiniest spark of hope flickered into being, somewhere behind his eyes. 'So–'

'Stop interrupting me!' I rolled my eyes, offering a smile that somehow managed to be sheepish and rueful and physically painful all at once (Well, you try to be simultaneously sheepish and rueful. Until then, I'd never even realised that cheek cramps were even _possible_). 'Anyway, I've been doing some thinking…'

He raised an eyebrow, but the blasé front did nothing to hide the fact that the poor boy's nerves were stretched tighter than a bowstring. 'Sirius Black, _thinking_? Something must be wrong.' He swallowed nervously, and I felt like someone had literally yanked a string tight around something in the middle of my chest. Well, that was interesting. I'd always thought of it as a pretty metaphor; I'd never really considered the idea that it _really _felt like that.

'Not… wrong, I wouldn't say. But something pretty major.'

Oh, Gods. He was holding his breath, bless him. He was actually holding his breath. It was quite literally all I could do not to throw myself at him then and there. It wasn't really helping that I could hardly breathe through all the unsaid stuff floating around.

'Anyway,' I continued. Self-restraint, self-restraint. 'You know the other day, when we were in the common room?'

'We spend a lot of time in the common room, Pad. You're going to need to be _slightly _more specific than that…' His voice caught very slightly. Oh, Gods. Now, that was getting perilously close to the line between _you're-so-sweet-I'm-in-danger-of-entering-a-diabetic-coma _and plain old sexy. He was still carefully neutral, so cautious – Although I couldn't have said I blamed him.

'You know, right after James'n'Lily got together? When we were trying to work out why it bothered us so much.'

'Oh, _then_. Got you.'

(_Got me_? If only you knew, Moon. If only you knew.)

My mouth was suddenly very dry. Was I… _nervous_? That was just plain _wrong_. 'Yeah, then. And I sort of… realised something.'

Sometime, I'm not sure when, we'd both stood up. We were so painfully close, my arms quite literally ached from the effort of keeping my hands to myself.

'And what was that?' he whispered, returning my gaze steadily. Gods, he was beautiful. Flawless, even, and all the more so because he didn't know it. I was suddenly reminded of the first time I'd laid eyes on him – a slight, pretty tawny boy, with big, fearful eyes. They were still the first thing you noticed about him – molten-caramel-coloured, with ridiculously long eyelashes for a boy. Outside, the sun sidled out from behind a cloud, gleaming softly on his hair. I squashed the sudden urge to run my fingers through it.

'I… I think…'

'Go on.'

Now or never, now or never. Jesus, how do people do this? It's terrifying. 'I think I–'

–I think I should try harder to finish my sentences in future. That one, for instance, got cut off. Before I even knew what happened, _he'd_ kissed _me, _which sort of wiped my brain. It was a desperate, clumsy, bruising kiss, but it didn't matter – all that mattered was that it was _him_. His hands tangled in my hair, his heart beating too-fast against mine. Oh, Gods, did I really just say that? Shoot me, somebody, please.

When I finally pulled away to breathe, I was riding a huge wave of adrenaline. I wanted to laugh like a maniac, run around and around in circles, yell at the top of my lungs that he was mine all mine. Why in the name of Merlin's balls had I not done this sooner? The fact that it had seemed so terrifying, so wrong before now looked utterly ridiculous. Funny what realising you love someone to the point of distraction can do.

Thinking that obeying the instinct to act like hyperactive five-year-old could have been construed as slightly mentally unstable at best, I settled instead for saying, 'You sure? Really? After… er, everything?'

No! _What_?! Don't mind me, I'll just go right ahead and deconstruct my own argument.

He snorted. 'Well, despite the fact that you're a real dick when you're trying to figure yourself out, _I've _been praying for this to happen for years. So, yes, while you _are_ eventually going to be the death of me one way or another – I'm sure.'

He dropped his head forwards to rest his forehead against mine, not moving away. This was… this was almost too easy. He was just the right height and everything. But one thing he'd said stood out against the crushing flood of dizzy, heady relief – _for years._

'For years? _Really_?'

A wry little chuckle, deep in the back of his throat. Gods, he really was trying to kill me after all. There was no other explanation.

'Since I was about twelve, Pad.'

'S_eriously?! _And you never said anything?!'

'Mhm.'

Wow. Mind sufficiently blown for the day, thanks.

'Well,' he added, justifying, 'What would have done if I _had _said something? You hardly encouraged me to think it'd go over well.'

'Mm, fair enough. I s'pose.' I nudged playfully against him, making him look at me. 'Well, doesn't matter now, does it?'

'No,' he agreed, looking into my eyes in a way that I was fairly sure was slowly frying my brain. 'It doesn't.' He shook his head, on the verge of laughing. 'I don't believe this. I mean, it's _you_.'

I didn't quite know what to make of that – deathly insult or sincere compliment? Realistically, I decided to assume that being _me _wasn't a good thing. I groaned. 'Merlin's balls, don't even get me started on what an appalling human being I am...'

He smiled a razor-sharp smile. 'Well, if you're going to be torturing yourself over that, I guess I don't need to.'

Just for that, for that little reminder that he was still Moony, only _mine_, I leant back in to kiss him again, but this time, the instant we touched something just… connected.

We both reeled backwards with stereo shocked, choking noises.

Because, all of a sudden, that inexplicable gap in my memory had been filled in.

'You too?' he asked, voice and eyes equally, unhelpfully fathomless.

'Oh, yeah.'

'We… we _didn't, _did we?'

He now looked torn between horror and hysterical amusement.

'I think we did…'

'But why didn't we…?'

'…Remember?' Even in the middle of my little lightbulb moment, part of me was exulting in the fact that he'd just _finished my fucking sentence_. 'James and Peter,' he announced, eyes narrowing. 'Must've been. I thought they were acting funny…'

He stepped back, looking practically menacing (by which I mean _sexy_). 'When I get my hands on those two…'

'You hold 'em down, I'll hex 'em.'

'Done.'

We shook on it.

And, yes, alright, it was a weird ending to the only properly (ugh, _cringe. _Was I going to be like this from now on? If so, save yourselves and just kill me now, please)… _romantic_ moment we'd ever had. But then again, this was _us_ – God forbid that we should ever just be a _normal _couple. And maybe that was just what I needed.

* * *

***nervous*  
So, er, what did you think? I'm still kind of new at this whole romance-writing thing... .**


	21. Epilogue

**Well, you pretty much know the ending… No point in just leaving this hanging about, right?  
On with the show!**

* * *

_But there's a secret in your laughter/A happily ever after/When you say go, go, stop, no, go/And now you know that…/We are the music makers, the lovers and the breeders/And we are the new risk takers/The narcissistic feeders/Well, we kiss like painted tigers/But we bleed like no one else/'Cause we are the music makers/Consumed with just ourselves…  
_–Scarling, We Are The Music Makers

Fifth year  
May 19th

'For the fiftieth time, Pete, it's two Cs and one S!'

'It's not! I'm _positive _it's one C and two Ss, Prongs.'

'It's not.'

'Is.'

'Is not.'

'Is.'

This (thoroughly unnecessary) argument between the two boys (coincidentally over the correct spelling of _necessary_) continued in much the same way as they made their way up to the common room.

'Is not.'

'Password?'

'Um… Oh, _ubi bene, ibi patria_. Is _not._'

'_Is_!'

Inside the common room, both stopped short, eyes trained on the overgrown armchair across the room. More specifically, the armchair currently occupied by both Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, so closely entwined it was impossible to tell whose limbs were whose. Peter, looking as if he'd been hit violently over the head with a frying pan, made a strange, choking noise. James, not looking away, extended a hand triumphantly.

'Pay up, Pete.'

At the sound of James' voice, Sirius' and Remus' heads jerked up in perfect unison. Peter opened his mouth to tell them it was fine; that he and James were overjoyed that they'd _finally _got together, that they'd been expecting it to happen some time, that they had absolutely no problem with it at all…

He shut his mouth again. Something, he'd realised was not quite right. The faces of his two friends were definitely not those of two worried people hoping for acceptance. In fact, they looked almost…

Angry.

Hell, screw _almost angry – _that was some serious gut-tingling, bone-melting _fury_.

Peter Pettigrew put two and two together.

'James,' he said out of the side of his mouth, swallowing nervously and not quite daring to look away. 'D'you think they know what we did? With the memory charms?'

Remus Lupin and Sirius Black were now out of the armchair, rolling up their sleeves, producing wands and advancing on the other two marauders, in a way that meant large amounts of _pain _were imminent for someone in the immediate vicinity.

'Um… You know, Pete, I'm gonna go for _yes._'

'You thinking what I'm thinking?'

'Yes – _run_!'

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**ZOMFG it's OVERRRRRRRR…  
*sobs***

**Anyways, I'd like to thank all of my gorgey reviewers for… um, reviewing. I KNOW I've already said this, but I'm saying it again, so hard cheese.**

**I'm DEFINITELY going to be writing Remus/Sirius again. I love them too much…**

**Password courtesy of the cambridgescp (dot) com – it means something like, **_**where you are happy, there is your homeland.**_

**Don't knock it. That website has saved me COUNTLESS hours on Latin homework.**

**Anyway… I hope you all enjoyed it :)  
**


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